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NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

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NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

BY

MAHARANEE SUNITY DEVEE, C.I.

OF COOCH BEHAR

To India.

I have eaten your bread, and salt,

I have drunk your water and wine ,

The deaths ye died, I have watched beside

And the lives ye led were mine.

Was there aught that I did not share

In vigil, or toil, or ease.

One joy or woe, that I did not know,

Dear hearts across the seas.

I have written the tale of our life

Por a sheltered people's mirth.

In jesting guise, but ye are wise.

And ye know what the jest is worth.

J.H..g. (Rudyard Kipling)

Calcutta

THACKER. SPINK & CO.

1919

PRINTED BY N. MUKHERJEE, B A.

AT THE ART PRESS

I, WELLINGTON SQ., CALCUTTA

DEDICATED

BY GRACIOUS PERMISSION

T©

HER MAJESTY

QUEEN ALEXANDRA

APPRECIATIONS.

Palace,

Cooch Behar.
Mother Dear,

In your book you have chosen the nine women of India whom you

consider " ideal." Had I been able to write such a work, I would

have added one more to the list, and that one would have been you — a

dutiful daughter, faithful wife, and a loving mother. May this book

prove a success is the wish of

Your loving son,

^ Jit.

[Extract from a letter.]

Delhi,

December T$th, 1919.
My Esteemed Friend,

These gracefully told stories of the Princesses of India should be
of the greatest interest to the women of India and of particular value
for interesting girls iu the history of their country. I hope, too, that
they may have a circulation wider than India, since they cannot fail to
open the eyes of their readers to the wonder and romance of the time of
which they treat.

I am.

Yours sincerely,

H. Sharp,

Educational Commissioner
with the Government of India.

Calcutta.
My Dear Maharani,

I shall not attempt to review the book from a hterary standpoint

because I am not competent to do so, but I was extremely interested

in your stories of the lives of these remarkable Indian women, and my

interest was enhanced by the simple and charming manner in which

you describe them. I feci sure your book would be read with pleasure

by many of my compatriots in America, especially by those who have

visited India.

Yours, etc.,

J. A. Smith,

American Consul.

CONTENTS

PAGE

SATI i_i6

SUNITY i7_S6

SAKUNTALA 57—81

SAVITRI 82—96

SHAIBYA 97—122

SITA 123— 161

PROMILA 162—174

DAMAYANTI 175—197

UTTARA 198—214

SAT!

SATI

It was long, long ago, when the earth was young, that Daksha Prajapati
(Maharajah of Daksha) reigned over a kingdom which stretched along the foot
of the mighty Himala5'as, and his capital stood on the river Ganges, where
Hardwar now is. He was one of the richest and most powerful Maharajahs in
Jambudwipa, the country now called India, and much respect was shown him by
devas and kings because of his man}^ lovely daughters. As each fair child
grew to maidenhood Daksha Raj married her to a rich god, and thus his own
influence increased, for who would dare offend the father-in-law of over a score
of gods !

Now Sati, the youngest of this large family of girls, was the loveliest and
from infancy had been her father's favourite, and she determined that she
should make the best match of all, and he proudly watched her growing into
the most beautiful, fairy like and exquisite maiden the world had ever seen.
Ever and again, he thought over the qualities of all the eligible gods and kings,
but, while he thus dreamed and planned and pondered, Sati grew up with her
ideal in her heart.

Rising up from the plains are the glorious, snowcapped Himalayan
mountains, in ancient times the home of the gods. Far above all towered
Kailash, the kingdom of Siva, the God of gods. Often in her childhood Sati
gazed up at those silver peaks while she listened to her mother's tales of the
worlds, of earth and air and sky, and the story little Sati loved best to hear
was about Siva, the Destroyer and Regenerator of the living world. When
the summer glory faded and trees stood brown and bare with their dead leaves
lying round about them on the silent earth, Sati's pure, childish fancy
understood that they died for Siva, because he willed to revivify the earth, and
when the sweet and playful Vasanta (Spring) flew forth over fields and hills

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SATI

and clothed the world in tender, yellow-green and red, Sati knew that it was
Siva, the Lord of all, who willed it so.

Thus from her babyhood this worship of Mahadeva grew in her heart and
when she was a tiny child of five she clasped her /j<?nna-tinted hands and cried
aloud : "Siva-Mahadeva, I want to learn the real, perfect yoga (meditation),
come, God and Lord, and teach me."

Her earnest cry reached the Lord of all, as He sat in Kailash upon His
prayer-rock and He descended swiftly to the kingdom of Daksha and, taking
the tiny girl upon His left knee, taught her how to fix her mind upon the Truth,
and Sati learned, and sitting there her soul and God's were as one and they
rose in ecstasy into the air. And often Mahadeva came. Years passed by and
Sati was a young maiden. She knew she could never pledge herself to any
other, for all her heart and soul and every fibre of her life, for time and all
eternity, were given to Siva, the King of Kailash Bhaban.

Daksha Raj heard of Sati's choice and was wrathful and cried in scorn :
"What! Does my precious Sati wish to marr}' Siva, the beggar-god! No,
never shall I give consent to this."

When he called Siva a beggar, Daksha Raj spoke truly, for among all the
gods there was none so poor as Mahadeva, who owned the whole creation but had
nothing in it to call His own, for He had given all to others and had for Himself
only an ox. Upon this ox He rode round strange places, from which all men
shrink in horror and disgust.

The places which Siva loved to visit are called shmashan and here, when the
mortal body is quitted, rich and poor, young and old, all leave their worldly
desires, their bodies are burnt to ashes and in these ashes there is no difference.
These spots Siva chose as His favourite places to roam, and smeared His body
with the ashes of the dead, and He counted these ashes as jewels, for it is only
through the fires of suffering and portals of death and the flames of shmashan
that souls can meet their God.

Mahadeva was of great majesty. Cobras formed a crown upon His head
and from His shoulders hung a tiger's skin, and in His hands He held the

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAT I

earth and skies and seas, and ruled over all. Wondrous and farseeing were
His triple eyes, for before His gaze the Present, Past and Future were
ever clear.

This was the ideal of Sati's pure soul and no persuasion could induce her
to consent to any other suitor, so in the end Daksha Raj was obliged to yield
and the marriage was celebrated, but Daksha Raj was vexed.

After the ceremony Sati accompanied her husband to his home in Kailash
in the north of the Himalayas, where Simla now stands. Sati lived up there,
close to the eternal snows, and she was supremely happy. Beautiful vela
(creepers) co\ered the roof of her cottage. The wonderful rudraksha trees
touched and shaded the \erandah. Fruit trees grew near the house, and
flowers were everywhere, and they bloomed all the year round. The kingly
mountain-peaks v\ere like sentinels guarding the beautiful Kailash Bhabau,
some with their heads wrapped in fleecy clouds and others with snow helmets.
And when Surya, the Sun-God, laid his touch on earth some looked like silver
and some were deep sapphire, others purple, others emerald-green and all were
beautiful and spoke of God. And the gems that studded the peaks of Kailash
scintillated and sparkled and shone for Sati's delight. Lovelj-, refreshing
springs sprang to life in Kailash Bhabaii and formed a wonderful lake on which
floated the sweet mandara flowers, filling all the air with perfume.

Near to the lake was the picturesque forest of Nandana where graceful
deer grazed peacefully and splendid peacocks roamed. Beyond the forest lay
another lake Achchoda where pure white lotus floated, rivalling Sati in her
fairness and she loved to see them there.

Further away stood the great Mount Kakudman where Mahadeva's bull was
born and lived, and Sati loved to wander there and feed the lordly animal and
listen to him bellowing in praise of Siva.

Away to the west lay the Aruna Mounlain full of precious herbs of gold
and shining red under the wand of Surya, and further away the golden peaks
of Sringavan tossed their heads in the air and tried to ri\al their majestic
snow-clad brother, Sarvousadah. Sati lo\ed to stand and watch them all and

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SATI

the heaven-born Ganges descending in her seven streams to water all the lands
and kingdoms of Jambu (India).

Into this beautiful Garden of Kailash no sorrow or trouble ever entered and
the only sounds that wake the echoes there were the music of the water-falls,
the songs of birds, Sati's sweet, silvery laughter and Siva at his devotions.
He rose at break of dawn to say his prayers and chanted soft, sad melodies
which Sati loved to hear. Such prayers are still chanted in India by devotees
of Siva, when they rise as he did with the first streak of dawn and this day-break
worship of Siva is called bhairabi (one of the names of Siva).

Often Sati wandered hand in hand with Siva through the groves of had
trees, and, when again they reached the little flower-embowered cottage, he
often stopped beside the champa hedge and picked the fragrant yellow blossoms
and twined them in her hair, and Sati in turn would gather the white dhutura
flowers aad weave a garland to crown her lord. (To this day the dhutura is
Siva's special flower and is offered in the puja to Mahadeva.)

In the mornings when Siva sat in silent meditation under the rudraksha
tree, Sati wandered in the woods alone. At times she called the gentle deer and
played hide-and-seek with them among the trees of Nandana. Or else she
would race the silver streams until they plunged downwards among the rocks
and hid themselves. Then home she sped and called the butterflies to deck
her walls and the pretty, winged ones forsook the flowers and covered the walls
of Sati's hut with their gorgeous loveliness as if they would draw honey from
her presence. And the flowers would long for Sati to come out again and often
they would call to the birds : "Go, peep and see what our goddess is doing.
Does she hold a court of butterflies?" Then all the birds would flutter round
the cottage and trill and warble till Sati came out to scatter rice amongst them.

Siva is sometimes cold like snow, but Sati was the sun which melts him.
Siva was the arid rock and Sati the spring that softens it. He is the kingly
tree and she the creeper. He is the sun and she the softly reflecting, gentle
moon .

Mahadeva said : "Sati is my life and without her I should cease to be."

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAT I

And Sati asked wonderingly : "My Lord, how can I be your life when
you are the Creator of all ? "

'^'Then he smiled and answered in his wonderful voice, which had in it
the depth and melody of the onward flow of many waters : "Sati, \'ou are my
life because you are my love. Without love there is no life, no creation.
Where love is the soul lives, and when love is fled the life is broken, empty,
cold and still. '!^

When Indra, King of the Skies, loosed the clouds, they wrapped the peaks
and valleys of Kailash in a cloak of grey mist. Then Siva would call Sati into
the cave and there they would stay while the rains washed the mountains and
plains of Jambu.

This cave was hidden within the mountain and its entrance was sheltered
by devdaru (kingly trees). Grass covered the side of the hill and made a carpet
to the mouth of the cave for Sati and Mahadeva to walk over. Within the
cave, a dome-shaped roof made it high and splendid, and though the sun and
moon and stars never shone in there it was brilliant with light which emanated
from its igneous rocks. In the heart of this majestic cave was a beautiful lake,
and running along its sides were beds full of charming subterraneous plants,
some golden, others silvery, and others delicate shades of coral, sapphire
emeralds and other hues. Near the lake was a pond of padnia flowers and close
to the pond a palace of silver. In this enchanting palace Siva rested and
meditated with Sati by his side, her lotus hand folded in prayer and her soul
keeping pace with his, who was her husband, god and all.

Thus Sati's life was full of joy and happiness and she lived for her husband
alone. They were such a contrast; he so massive, strong and majestic and she
tender, loving and sweet !

Now, soon after the marriage of Siva and Sati, a mooni named Bhrigoo
held a yagna and all the gods and Maharajahs attended it. Daksha Raj was
almost the last guest to arrive and, when he entered the durbar all stood up
in his honour, save his son-in-law Mahadeva. Daksha Raj was furious at this
insult and determined then and there to avenge himself.

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SATI

Wy

Not long after he decided to have a yagna and chose Narad, the singing
Saint, to be the bearer of his invitations. In those olden days all invitations
were given bj^ word of mouth.

Narad was charged to summon every god from heaven and all the kings
and princes of earth. One only was to be omitted and he was Mahadeva.

The Singing Saint was a gossip and mischief-maker and that was why
Daksha Raj chose him to carry the invitations. When he had a piece of news,
Narad never rested till he had told every one, so he was impatient to get away
to Kailash and tell Sati and Siva all about the yagiia to which they were not
bidden.

Of course, Siva, being the great God, knew all about everything that

happened in the kingdom of his father-in-law and why Narad visited Kailash

in such haste. Still, when the Singing inooni touched his feet in homage

Mahadeva asked kindly : "My son, Narad, what brings you here?"

■ , Narad, bowing to the ground, asked after Siva's health, and then said :

(■;! .' "Does my lord know that your father-in-law is having a big yagna and all the

'' gods, saints, maharajahs and one and all in Jambu have been invited?"

Mahadeva was not at all surprised or ruffled by the news, but he asked
Narad not to mention it to his little Sati. Narad was so anxious to tell Sati,
too, that he darted off, pretending not to hear Siva's request. Sati was within,
but when she heard the moonr's voice she came out on to the verandah and stood
at its edge, holding a branch of the rudraksha tree. Hurriedly Narad, the
Singing Saint, came along and Sati, modestly drawing her sari over her face,
asked him : ' ' Are my dear parents well ? ' '

Narad made a deep obeisance and said : "Mother Sati, they are well and
your father is having a great yagna to which I am deputed to invite all the gods

and kings."

"Indeed!" said Sati, "and I suppose you have come here to invite us.

Of course we shall go."

But Narad behaved unlike any other messenger. Instead of repeating the
formula of the invitation, he said awkwardly, "I mu.st hurry away now; I have

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SATI

so many places to go" and hastily departed.

"And he never delivered the message " said Sati to herself, feeling rather
puzzled at the mooni's strange behaviour.

Mahadeva had watched Narad go round to Sati's verandah but he did not
attempt to stop him, with his third eyes fixed on the Future he knew all that
was written. So he remained seated upon the tiger-skin which covered the
rock. And after Narad had departed Sati joined her husband there, and
seating herself upon her left knee as was her wont, asked him : "Have you
heard that my father is going to have a big yae^na ? You and I shall go to it,
shall we not?"

Mahade\a took her hand and answered gently : "I have not been invited,
because I am a poor son-in-law, and a'OU cannot go because you are my wife."

Then he drew her thoughts to higher things and Sati forgot about her
father's yagna.

Some days later a procession of palkis arri\ed at Kailash Bhaban and out of
them stepped Sati's many sisters, all gorgeously attired, each wearing different
coloured sari and gems. One shone with diamonds, another with emeralds
and a third had chosen rich red rubies, while a fourth had milk-white pearls
encircling her throat and wrists and falling in ropes to her waist. Here gleamed
the opal and there sapphire caught the light. One had fancied the blue of the
turquoise and beside her walked another adorned with ornaments of mounga
(coral) and gold. Following them were others as variously adorned and their
dresses were as dift'erent as their jewels.

They greeted Sati in chorus: "Dear little sister, what! you are not
dressed and ready to go to father's yagna !"
"I am not going, sisters" Sati replied.

"Not going !" they echoed, "Father is having a durbar; everyone is to be
there and you, his child, say you are not going !"

"No" said Sati, "my husband is poor, so my father has not invited us.
All of you are the wives of rich gods."

"Nonsense! Nonsense!" cried her sisters, "you must come; get ready."

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAT I

"No", Sati replied, "I cannot go, for my father would be ashamed to see
me there and I should not be able to bear hearing him say anything against my
dear husband."

The sisters inferred that her real reason was that she had no jewelry, so
they had a whispered consultation and then addressed her again : "We shall
each lend you a jewel and you will be adorned, little sister. Now we shall go
and speak to your husband about your coming with us."

Again Sati refused saying : "Dear sisters, many thanks, but I am proud to
be my husband's wife and if I go at all I shall go as his wife which would not be
the case were I to wear your ornaments. You are very kind but I cannot accept
your suggestion."

The sisters, however, hurried off to ask Mahadeva to allow Sati to accompany
them and found him sitting on the rock beneath a great rudraksha tree, in
profound meditation. They dared not disturb him but stood and watched him
awhile, and noticed a large bag hanging on the branch of a tree near him. One
of the sisters opened it out of curiosity and the setting sun shone on its contents
and all saw that the bag was full of valuable jewels and precious stones. The
sisters whispered to one another that perhaps, after all, Siva was not a poor god,
and they hurried back to Sati and did all they could to persuade her to
accompany them. Sati remained firm in her refusal and at last the sisters went
away without her.

But after they had gone Sati sought her lord and spoke to him sweetly and
pleadingly, saying : "My God and lord, will you permit me to attend my
father's yagnal"

Siva turned and tenderly folded her in his embrace and, stroking the
pretty head, asked gently : "My little wife, how can you go when we have
not been invited ? It is not customary to attend a large gathering like that
without an invitation."

Sati lovingly addressed him and answered : "Oh, Siva, I am my father's
child and surely we need not stand on ceremony. I want very much to go.
Do let me."

8 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAT!

Her husband replied : "I do not wish you to go, Sati. Your father is
ashamed of 3-our marriage and it will be better to remain away, especially as we
have received no invitation. Change your mind, my little protima, and stay
with me."

But Sati shook her pretty head and continued to urge : "It will look so
strange if I am not there for all my sisters will be present. Do say yes."

Mahadeva answered gravely : "Your sisters are the wives of rich husbands
and were all invited. We are poor and have been left out. Dear one, why go?"

"Lord and master of mj' heart!" she implored, looking her sweetest,
"I am not ashamed of being a poor god's wife and there is no happier wife
than I. It is just to prove how proud I am of you, my husband, that I wish
to go. Do let me."

"Well, little wife," Siva answered, "as you wish it I shall say no more,
but I am not anxious for you to go. And you must go as my wife, not as
5''our father's daughter. I shall ask my disciples, Nandi and Bhringi, to
escort you."

Nandi and Bhringi came and in obedience to Siva's command they culled
all the choicest flowers of Kailash Bhaban and wove them into a crown and into
necklaces, bangles and every imaginable ornament. Next morning dressed
in these phiil-ka-gama (flower jewels) Sati looked perfectly lovely.

She thought her beloved Siva gazed at her rather sadly, so she smiled at
him brightly and said : "I shall not be away long". Then she fell before
him with reverence and asked his blessing, and touching his feet gracefulh'
with her clasped hands she rose and walked towards the ox, which was ready
for her.

Siva lifted her on to the animal's back, saying as he did so : "My little
Sati, 3^ou are taking from me the perfume and light of Kailash."

Sati blushed at the sweet compliment and answered : "Beloved, I shall
not stay there long."

Mahadeva replied with great earnestness: "You are leaving me alone
and I cannot live without you, my precious little protima."

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SATI

Then he gave her into the charge of the faithful disciples and watched the
little procession descend the hill. When Siva turned back to their cottage,
Kailash Bhaban seemed a different place. What flowers were left were all
drooping. The birds had ceased their singing. The peacocks cried uneasily.
The timid deer had sought the shelter of the trees, for all looked gloomy and
portentous. The sun had disappeared behind a great dark cloud. Mahadeva
understood these dismal omens, and sighing sadly, he seated himself upon the
rock under the tree, whose leaves quivered tremulously as if they sorrowed at
the tale they had to tell him of the doings of mankind. And Siva sat with
closed eyes and meditated.

As Sati rode along the hills, Kuber, the god of riches, saw and recognised
her, and running up to the mountain-side he knelt down before her, and asked
reverently if he and his wife might be kindly allowed to dress her, their
goddess-queen, for the yagna. His wife had followed him and joined her
entreaties to his, saying : "Mother Sati, my husband is the god of riches
but all his treasures are of no value if he cannot adorn you with his
jewels."

Sati answered sweetly : "It is a pleasure to me to make my children
happy, for I love them. Do as you wish."

So Kuber with his wife brought out the most beautiful of their treasures,
and adorned goddess Sati with rare and wonderful cloth of gold and brilliant
jewels. Nandi and Bhringi, danced with joy to see their queen dressed as
became her rank.

Just as Sati was about to resume her journey Kuber stood before her with
folded hands and asked another favour: "Mother Sati, may I complete
your attire ? ' '

"Why", laughed vSati, "what is wanting? I thought your wife had
dressed me perfectly."

"Just one thing," said Kuber, "and that is the adornment of your feet."
And he produced two full blown lotuses and kneeling before Sati, fastened one
on each dainty foot. Then rising he bowed profoundly and said : "Now,

10 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

Sati — So Kuber with his wife brought the most beautiftU of their treasures.

SATI

Mother Sati, you are perfect, and I, your devoted servant, have had the
pleasure of putting the finishing touch to your costume."

Sati laughed her sweet happy laugh and, blessing Kuber and his wife with
her choicest blessings, she left them.

The grand palace of Daksha Raj was full of guests. Gods, Maharajahs,
saints and sages mingled together and awaited the yagna. The palace stood
on the Ganges and the portion of the river near it was called Nildhara, or Blue
river. In the near distance were the picturesque hills and further away,
gleaming against the blue sky were the snow-mountains of Himalaya, shining
like silver in bright sunshine.

The capital of Daksha Raj was a wonderful place, built all of stone, and
the remains of paved streets, still to be seen, speak of its ancient splendour.
The palace was a fine building, with verandahs and terraces, and immense
courtyard separated the different portions of the palace. In the outer courtyard
durbars were always held and it was now fitly adorned and prepared for the great
prayer-meeting. Everything was so magnificent and costly that thousands of
guests were eloquent with admiration.

Daksha Raj walked in and out fully satisfied with himself. He felt sure
that this yagna would teach his son-in-law, Siva, a lesson, so that he would
never dare to insult him again.

Daksha Rani was not in her husband's confidence, so when many
daughters arrived and she learned from them that her youngest and favourite
child would not be present, she was dismayed and unhappy and continued to
ask the reason of Sati's absence. One day when she was again asking if there
was no chance of Sati's coming, they saw a radiant figure, riding upon an ox,
enter the palace gate. She immediately knew that this was Sati and hastened
forward to greet her, saying : "My child, my sweet Sati ! Why are you so
late? How lovely you look and what costly jewels you are wearing."

The delighted mother fussed so much over Sati that the other daughters
got jealous, and were furious because their mother made so much of their
youngest sister. They had received no such welcome ! Next, they discovered

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 11

SAT I

that Sati, the poor god's wife, outshone them in dress and jewels. Then they
remembered that Sati had not been invited to the yagna and quickly decided
that it was their duty to inform their father that she had arrived.

When his daughters stood before him in a body and informed him of Sati's
unwelcome presence, Daksha Raj nearly choked with rage.

"What!" he cried, "Sati here! She shall not remain very long. How
dare she come when they were not invited ? No wife with any self-respect goes
where her husband is ignored. I shall have nothing to do with Siva, the
Beggar-God, and as Sati is his wife she must leave my palace at once."

So he commanded his youngest daughter to appear before him in the
durbar. The thrones and seats of the various guests were arranged according
to their ranks and thousands of eyes watched Sati as she walked past all to her
father's throne in the centre. Her ghomta (veil) hung over her face, but it
could not conceal the grace and radiance of the little figure, so calm and serene.
The admiration she excited, and her rich apparel and jewels, still further
incensed her irate father and when she reached the steps of his throne he
shouted aloud at her in his rage, expressing his surprise that she had dared
to come uninvited to his yagna, upbraiding her for her marriage and abusing
Siva as insultingly as he could.

While the torrent of his anger poured forth Sati stood patiently listening
with her head bowed and hands clasped together as if in prayer. When he
ceased, she raised her head and answered him, the clear notes of her voice
resounding through the Durbar.

"Father, why have you so abused my husband? Do you forget he is
Mahadeva? It is true he is a beggar, but he begs for love, the love of his
children. It is their love alone that he cares for." She paused awhile and
then continued : "I am sorry for you, my father, but 3four words are unpardon-
able. The tongue that speaks against my husband is not fit to belong to
a human brain. The head that contains that tongue shall become that of an
animal."

Before the astonished eyes of the assembly, the head of Daksha Raj

12 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SATI

changed its shape and a goat-headed monarch sat upon the gorgeous throne,
but none heeded him, for Sati's voice held them spell bound.

"For myself", she cried in a voice of thrilling anguish, "I no longer care
to live. I should always be known as the daughter of him who abused his God
my beloved Mahadeva ! ' ' The last three words floated through the hall like a soft
whisper of love. All who heard the rapture of adoration and worship, as she
named Siva with his title 'God of all gods,' felt their souls filled with a
conception of his majesty, and bowed their heads in reverent homage, till
Sati's silvery voice recalled them to earth.

She had fallen upon her knees, with hands clasped together and upturned
eyes, she prayed aloud : "O Siva, my husband, why did I come here against
your wish ! Siva my God ! I cannot bear to live since my father has abused
you. Yam, kind king of death, hasten your steps and bear me hence!"
Sinking down with hands still clasped and upstretched arms, she cried :
"Mahadeva, my God, my husband, forgive me! My last thought is of you,
my lord, my master and my last prayer is, do not forget your little Sati !"

The piercingly sweet voice died away and a deep awe filled the assembly.
A shining star appeared on the forehead of Sati, and when at last some ventured
to come near they found that her soul had fled. Still, none dared touch the
beautiful and fragrant form. The gods trembled with fear of Siva's wrath,
and kings and princes, saints and sages fled from the durbar in disorder.

Nandi and Bhringi sadly returned home. They knew not how to tell
Siva that the goddess-queen of Kailash was no more. When they reached the
Bhaban the Great God still sat upon the rock in meditation under the tree.
Nandi cried aloud : "Oh goddess Sati, where art thou? where art thou?"

The dreadful wail of grief reached the ears of Siva and he slowh' opened
his eyes. Nandi and Bhringi prostrated themselves before him, weeping
' ' Our Mother ! Our Mother ! ' '

Siva rose from his seat and descended from the rock, but his whole frame
trembled. He walked towards Nandi and asked him what he meant. Kneel-
ing before him they breathlessly told him of all that had happened. Then they

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 13

SATI

beheld their beloved Mahadeva as they had never before known him and they
were terrified at his awful aspect. Transformed with grief, Siva tossed back
his flowing locks. His three eyes blazed with red fires. The cobras which
formed his crown writhed and swelled, hissing angrily and spreading wide their
hoods. Turning his majestic frame rapidly north, south, east and west, Siva
shouted in a voice of thunder: "I have lost ni}? Sati ! All ye elements!
Thunder, Lightning, Storm, Rain and Earthquake! Hear my word! Come!
help me, destroy the world." And at his call all the spirits of the elements
appeared and fell before him in homage and obedience.

Then with his trishiil (trident) in his right hand, Siva strode down the
mountains to Daksha Raj's kingdom. At each stride he took, the earth rocked
and trembled, thunder rolled through the skies and the lightning darted,
flashed and fell, the mountains became enveloped in mist and rain fell in
torrents. The enraged god entered the durbar hall and called aloud : "Where
are you, mj^ Sati? I have come, speak to me."

His deep voice thrilled all who heard him and filled the now darkened hall,
where between the massive pillars the lightning flashed and played. No answer
came and once again the awful voice shouted "Sati, where are you?"

Then a figure came forward, piteously, trying in vain to speak. It was
Daksha Prajapati, now the goat-headed king ! Siva paid no heed to him.
The distraught god had seen the motionless form of his wife sitting before the
throne. He strode to her and bending over her cried in a voice of grief which
shook the palace and struck terror into all hearts : "Speak, my little Sati !"

The silent figure sat there as if in meditation. In Siva's grief he thought
of her only in her mortality and the ever living soul of Sati, which had so often
met his in meditation and communion, was now separated from him. In an
agony of despair and sorrow he caught up the fair, lifeless form of her beloved,
and threw it across his left shoulder, holding the lotus-adorned feet in his left
hand. The body hung across his back with the head hanging downwards and
the luxuriant, glossy hair sweeping the ground. Then Siva strode from the
palace of Daksha Raj, crying : Sati, you were mine, you are mine, you shall

14 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN,

SATI

be mine for e\er," and leaping across the plain, from hill to hill, from mountain
to mountain, over rivers and streams he went rushing on through the world,
and ever as he went the elements of Nature followed him and the whole earth
rocked and writhed and rent under the terrible grief of the God of gods, who
now appeared only in his character of the Destroyer.

All the gods in heaven beheld the awful sight and trembled for the fate
of the world. One alone could save it from the wrath of Siva, and he was
Vishnu, the Life-Giver.

Then the devas consulted together and determined to beseech Vishnu to stop
the annihilation of the world. They knelt before him and told him all, and when
their prayers were heard, Vishnu, merciful God of Life, caught up his faithful
companion, Sudarshan, and enveloped in invisibility, flew through the air and
followed Siva in his mad flight of destroying grief. And as they flew, Vishnu
spun Sudarshan round and round, and the disc knew its work and twirled its
sharp blades intelligently and cut the body of Sati into little pieces and these
little pieces fell all over Jambudwipa as the gods flew on and on over the world.

Wherever a piece of Goddess Sati's body fell the ground became holy and
pilgrimages were made to the spot, and, to this day, temples of Si^■a may be
found in various places throughout the length and breadth of India. The eyes
fell on a rock in the Himalayas beside a sacred lake and from them sprang to
life a new goddess, who is known as Nayani (Eyes) and the lake and spot have
since been deeined more holy than before, and the place is Naini Tal, a hill
station in Kumaon. Another of these temples is at Kalighat, near Calcutta,
where a finger fell, and thousands of pilgrims flock there every year.

Thus Vishnu, with his Sudarshan , saved the earth. And as the lifeless
body ceased to burden him, Siva's rage cooled, and presently he became aware
that the mortal Sati was gone. Then his soul re-asserted itself and subdued
his senses, but he felt that the world was black without his Sati. He chose
a cave in the Himalayas and here he lived the life of a Yogi (hermit) and all
his meditations were on eternal love and in spirit he was again united with the
soul of Sati and he said : "I loved my Sati in her mortal body but it is the

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 15-

SAT!

soul which lives. Sati's love for me was eternal and thus she forsook her
material body to be with me eternally. Soul to soul, we still belong to and
love each other. Love begat the creation. Love keeps the world alive, for
love is life and without love all is utter desolation. The love of creatures is
given as a ladder to the love of the Creator. Henceforth and for ever, mj' Sati
shall be to mankind the Spirit of pure and undying love, that wonderful bond
which unites two souls in life and beyond the bars of death, even unto the
realms of Eternity."

16 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

SUNITY

In ancient India, there lived a religious Maharajah named Dharmabrata.
His kingdom was in Upper India, by the river Jumna. Small in size the State
was, but it had a most kind and generous ruler. There vi'as little sickness or
sorrow in the kingdom, and what there was did not linger there, for the
Maharajah was always eager to help those in trouble, and treated his subjects
as if they were his children.

Temples were found everywhere, and Dharmabrata was so religious that
his State resembled a topoban, and the people had pujas and parbans all the
year round. All who visited the kingdom remarked on the peacefulness of the
country, and Dharmabrata, though a Maharajah, was a saint.

{Dharmabrata means that religion was his object, and the Maharajah's life
and deeds proved that he was worthy of the name he bore.)

Though the country was happy and peaceful, there was one thing needed,
the want of which troubled the Maharajah's subjects and relations. He was
much loved bj' his people, and they were anxious for him to ha\e an heir.
After some years, the Maharani told him, one morning, that she had had a dream
that the god Vishnu spoke to her and said, "M}^ child, I am pleased with you both,
and you shall have a beautiful child." True enough it was, for a few months
later she became the mother of a lovely little daughter, who was named Sunit3\

When Sunity was quite a child, an unknown sage came to her father's
court, and, noticing the form of a lotus flower shadowed in the pupils of her
eyes, prophesied that she would be a great queen and that her name would live
for ever in the world. The King and Queen were, naturally, delighted with
the fortune-teller, and promised him a handsome reward if his augury came
true. The mystic smiled and disappeared, and was never seen nor heard of
again, in the kingdom of Dharmabrata Maharajah.

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 17

SUNITY

Princess Sunity grew up a picture of loveliness, and her sweetness of
character was even greater than her beauty. When she was about sixteen, the
fame of her loveliness went far and wide, but her parents were in no haste to
get her married, for it was the dream of their lives that their loved child
should never leave them. They hoped that she would become the wife of a
prince who would live at their court and be to them a son, for King Dharmabrata
wished his daughter to reign after him. But Sunity's life was otherwise
decreed.

By the river Jumna, there was another kingdom, where reigned a young
Maharajah named Uthanpad. There was none to equal him in looks, knowledge,
accomplishments and sports, in all of which he was distinguished. But he was
unmarried, and gave his people to understand that, until he found a worthy
consort, he would not marry, and no lady had yet met with his approval.

Ambassadors were deputed to visit every court, and in each to ascertain
what the marriageable princesses were like. The envoys travelled from one
kingdom to another, but so fastidious were they, on Uthanpad 's behalf, that
none of the many fair maidens they heard of pleased them. It seemed to these
anxious delegates that they would never find a lady to equal their liege lord, and
they were in this despondent mood when they arrived at the court of Dharmabrata
Maharajah.

Wondering if they were to be disappointed again, they began to ask
questions about the King's daughter. The descriptions of her beauty, disposi-
tion, attainments and accomplishments made them wish to see the Princess.
"Surely, surely," they said to one another, "we have come to the right place,
at last," for it seemed as though they had found one worthy of their Prince.

Accordingly, they presented themselves at the durbar, and intimated to
the Maharajah that they had come to supplicate the hand of the Raj-Kumari for
their young Ruler.

Dharmabrata replied : "It is an unexpected honour to me that so great a
Maharajah as Uthanpad should think of a union with my house. But is it to
any purpose that you should see my daughter ? Your young King will want a

18 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

wife to be his Queen-Consort, and, as I have no son, my daughter will reign
here, after me."

The ambassadors returned, disappointed, to their own country. But, all
that they related of what they had heard of the young Princess Sunity convinced
the ministers and court-advisers that this lovely Princess was their Heaven-
designed queen, though none had seen her ! Uthanpad's imagination was
awakened, by the descriptions of her, and he bade his envoys go again to the
court of Dharmabrata Maharajah and endeavour to obtain a glimpse of this
pearl of maidens.

They obeyed the royal behest and, after niau}' interviews, Sunity's father
consented to let them see his lovely daughter at the next morning's durbar.
Morning found them at the temple of Vishnu, where they gathered to worship
their family god before the sun rose. Flowers, sandalwood and incense were
plentiful, conch-shells were blown, and offerings, on golden plates, filled the
temple, and the Maharajah, the Maharani and the young Princess knelt, with
clasped hands, before the image of their god.

AVhen the puja was over, the Maharajah went to the durbar and sat on his
golden throne. The ambassadors had been conducted to their seats, and an
unusually large assembly was gathered, for the object of the embassy was
well-known, and everyone was proud and pleased at the thought of such a great
alliance for their loved Princess.

After a few courteous words to his guests, the Maharajah bade a page
request the Raj-Kumari to come to the du rba r. A wave of breathless expectation
filled the court, for now the honour of both kingdoms was at stake. The
en\-oys, having gone thus far, would find it difficult to excuse themselves if
the Princess' appearance did not please them ; and, on the other side, if
Dharmabrata Maharajah refused to give his daughter's hand, his action would
be an open insult to Uthanpad.

In the intense silence that such consideration evoked, Sunity entered.
Responding to her father's message, with child-like obedience and simplicity,
she had come straight to the durbar, clad in a blue silk sari, and looking like

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 19

SUNITY

a rare flower, she glided to the foot of the throne. The gold border of her sari
blended artistically with its rich texture, while the clinging folds of soft silk hid
and revealed the beauty of her maiden form. Her head was slightly bent, and
the delicate, high-bred face looked somewhat serious and the tremulous lips
betrayed that the facing of so many eyes was an ordeal to her. Clustering
silken curls had escaped from under the edge of her sari, and kissed the fair
forehead, in the centre of which shone a small bright red spot, placed there
during puja, which seemed to the admiring gaze, of all who beheld her, like the
evening star in a peaceful sky. The luxuriant masses of her unbound hair
fell in rippling waves, almost to the floor, and looked like a black mantle
against the sheen of her silken sari. Costly rubies and pearls clasped her
beautiful neck and wrists, and the tiny gold bells on her anklets made a
delightful tinkle, as she walked forward.

When she reached the throne, the Princess sank gracefully on her knees,
and, touching the ground with her forehead, did homage to her father, the King.
Then, rising, she placed her small and shapely hands together, the tapering
finger-tips pointing upwards, and, bowing low, saluted the assembly, and then
her musical voice addressed her father':

"Father Maharaj, I await your commands."

Uthanpad's ambassadors thrilled, at the first glance they had of the lovely
Princess, and, as she approached the throne, they were enraptured. Lost in
admiration of her beauty, they forgot where they were, and, with one accord,
sprang to their feet.

Dharmabrata Maharajah noticed their excited and unaffected tribute to his
daughter's beauty, and the thought of parting from her weighted his voice with
love, as he answered :

"My precious little girl, some friends here were anxious to see you."

Sunity blushed, and the rosy wave which suffused her face enhanced her be-
witching loveliness. She again did homage to her father, bowed to the durbar and
slowly, with hands clasped, retreated backwards from the throne, every movement
again a poem of grace, and disappeared through an alcove which led to the andar.

20 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

"Sire," said the chief of Uthanpad's delegates, "we hunibly beg }-our
pardon for rising without your august permission, but the Princess's surpassing
loveliness so charmed us that we forgot ourselves, and longed to hasten to our
King and tell him that the jewel which adorns your court is indeed a priceless
pearl."

The Maharajah answered, courteoush' :

"You honour me with such praise. My little daughter is often called
'Mother Lakshmi', because she has brought such good fortune to our kingdom."

After a ceremonious leave-taking, the en\-oys hastened back to Uthanpad,
who, charmed by the description they gave him of Princess Sunit}', determined
to judge for himself. He sent another ambassador to Maharajah Dharmabrata,
asking permission to come, in person, to solicit the hand of the Raj-Kuviari.
Sunity's father gave a cordial consent, though his heart was sad at the prospect
of parting from his only child.

Uthanpad arrived at the kingdom of Dharmabrata, with a small retinue,
and, from the moment of his arrival, showed such eagerness to see the "Lady
Lakshmi" Princess that the Maharajah and Maharani decided that they had
better let the meeting take place that evening.

The Maharani dressed her daughter with her own hands, choosing a simple
sari of pale green, with ornaments of emeralds and diamonds, and, kissing the
sweet face, with maternal pride and tenderness, sent Sunity to her father,
hoping and half-fearing, she knew not why, that the girl's pure fancy would
be impressed with the handsome appearance of the young King.

It was just after sun-set, and the Maharajahs sat in an open courtyard
in the twilight, on raised seats. Sunity, attended by her maidens, came and
gracefully did homage to her royal Sire and his guest, then, with clasped hands,
stood before her father, who immediately engaged her in conversation. As
.she answered him, her face broke into a lovely, dimpled smile, and Uthanpad
was enraptured with her beauty. He thought her voice was the sweetest music
he had ever heard, and that her face framed in the silken sari, was like a pure
white lotus floating in a lake of limpid green water.

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 21

SUNITY

When Sunity had left them, Uthanpad turned to his host, exclaiming :
"I have never seen anyone so lovely," and begged Dharmabrata Maharajah to
give this treasure to him, and thus make him the richest husband. The
Maharajah answered quietlj^ that his daughter was "the luck of the State",
and that he was reluctant to part with her. But Uthanpad pleaded his love,
and promised that Sunity 's parents might visit her as often as they wished.

Finally, the marriage was arranged, and Uthanpad returned to his own
kingdom, to prepare for the reception of the bride. When the eventful daj''
arrived, he came back with a noble escort and all the insignia of his high rank,
to wed the lady of his heart, bringing with him costly jewels and gifts and
a wonderful pearl necklace which was a family heirloom.

The marriage was celebrated with unusual brilliance, and, when the
ceremony was over, Uthanpad thought himself the luckiest man on earth. As
soon as he found himself alone with his bride, he took the exquisite pearls from
their golden casket and placed them round her neck, saying :

"My lovely wife, these pearls are a family relic, and my mother gave
them to me on her death-bed, and her last words were, 'Son, marry one as pure
as these pearls.' Sweet little bride, there is none other but you who could
wear them."

Sunity 's face flushed with happiness at his praise. She touched his feet
and as Uthanpad lifted her up, she whispered shyly :

"My husband and King, may I always be worthy of your love and these
beautiful pearls ! "

On the following day, the time of departure came, and, one by one, the
Princess said goodbye to all the friends of her happy childhood's home. She
bade farewell to her parents, touching their feet, in her pretty, graceful way,
shedding sad tears, and saying :

"Beloved father and mother, I shall try and prove myself a true daughter,
by ever remembering all you have taught me. May our god, Vishnu, guide
me, in my new home, as he has guided me here all my life."

Her parents, seeing her happy in her love, and Uthanpad so proud of her,

22 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

hid their own sadness at the parting, but their hearts were heavy, for they had
a presentiment that they would never again see their dear child.

Her father's farewell words were :

"Be as unselfish a wife as you have been a daughter, and Vishnu will
bless j'ou."

Thus they parted, and all Dharmabrata's kingdom wept over her
departure.

Uthanpad's capital was brilliantly illuminated to welcome him back with
his bride, and he held a great durbar, to introduce her to his people. To
celebrate her coronation as his Queen-Consort, there were many festivities.
Rewards and distinctions were given to court nobles and officers, the poor were
clothed and fed and prisoners released, and the name of Sunity was hailed
everj'where with joj', for her advent to her new country brought happiness and
good fortune to Uthanpad's subjects. The young Maharani devoted herself
to her husband's Raj, and every one loved her. Uthanpad lost himself in the
ocean of her love, and two golden years passed away.

Then came a gradual change. There was no heir-presumptive to the
throne, for Uthanpad was the last of his race, so the elders of the court were
anxious to see their Chief a father. The first whispers of disappointment grew
louder and louder, until a black cloud of gloom seemed to pervade the kingdom,
and a day came, when, in the durbar, the aged ministers spoke to the King.

Uthanpad's love for Sunity had never waned, and the discontent and
murmuring of his subjects, because there was no heir, came as a shock to him,
but his duty as a King led him to sympathise with his people. Sunity noticed
that some trouble weighed on her lord, and soon the rumours of the subjects'
dissatisfaction reached her. Often had she grieved, in secret, that motherhood
was denied her, and now the knowledge that this was the cause of the gloom,
which sometimes clouded Uthanpad's brow, hurt her deeply. But she faced the
difficulty as only a brave and self -abnegating woman could, and, remembering
her father's last wish that she should be an unselfish wife, determined to help
both the King and the State.

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 23

SUNITY

No sooner had she taken this resolution than she carried out her purpose.
When Uthanpad joined her, in the evening, she seated herself at his feet and
said, gently and very sweetly :

"My lord, my husband, you love me, I know, but a King must live for
his people more than for his wife and, my husband, I wish you to think of
your subjects."

Uthanpad did not grasp her meaning, so, kneeling by his side, she kissed
his hands and said, bravely :

"You see, beloved, we have no heir. You must marry another wife."

"Sunity ! my Sunit}^!," exclaimed her husband, "do you no longer love
me?"

The sharpness of his tone cut her to the quick. Poor Sunity ! her love for
her husband was so great that she was willing to share his heart with another,
and immolate herself in serving him, and he asked her if she no longer
loved him !

"M}' lord !" she answered very tenderly, "you will ever be the centre of
my life, my all in all, whether j^ou marry other wives or not. Nothing will
ever change my love for you, but you must think of your people and of your
dynasty."

Uthanpad looked at her, in wonder. "My Sunity," he said, ")^ou are so
beautiful in mind and heart! You should have married a deva."

"Why ! my husband, you are the deva of all devas to me," she answered
proudly.

Uthanpad drew her into his strong embrace, telling her he worshipped her
for her sweet unselfishness, and that she was the only woman in the world for
him. Sunity often spoke to him of the subject, and begged him to marry
again, and often he refused, and looked vexed at the proposal. But, in the
end, after a great deal of persuasion, and because of the anxiety of his subjects,
he consented to marry a second wife.

The ministers soon heard of a handsome young princess, in a small king-
dom, and the customary' marriage-offering, a cocoanut, was sent and accepted.

24 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

Queen Sunity supervised all the preparations for the marriage, and welcomed
the bride to her new home.

There was a great contrast between Uthanpad's two wives. Sunity was
small, and delicately-built, with dainty hands and feet, a rosebud mouth, soft,
black eyes and long, silky, curling eye-lashes. Her voice was low and musical,
and her every action gentle and refined. Everyone adored her, for her
generosity and charity had won all hearts, and her intelligence made her opinion
esteemed in the State Councils, and the Maharajah sought her advice on all
matters.

Suruchi, the new wife, was tall, well-built, handsome, and all energy and
fire. Her sparkling black eyes were always full of mischief. She loved
everything that spoke of life, and disliked Councils and serious discussions.

Now, in India, a bride receives a trousseau in her new home, as well as
from her mother, and Sunity had been lavish in her preparation of beautiful
clothes and jewels for her sapatni (co-wife). Suruchi delighted to arraj^ her
striking figure in the bright, rich silks, and to adorn herself with the costly
jewellery, and her brilliance and gaiety struck an unknown chord in Uthanpad's
heart, and soon he was fascinated by his second wife.

Suruchi was quick to perceive the impression she had made on her husband
and, young as she was, neglected no art bj^ which she could further attract him.
Her one ambition was to gain the first place in Uthanpad's affections and palace.
But her imperiousness made her disliked bj^ servants and subjects, and the
ministers and courtiers came to regret that they had ever favoured a second
marriage. As time passed on, Suruchi took no pains to conceal her jealousy
of the Maharajah, who, infatuated with her fresh and spirited beauty, indulged
her slightest whim.

The popularity of the elder Maharani was a thorn in the flower of
Suruchi 's happiness, and she thought that, unless Sunity was removed from
the palace, life would not be worth living. She began with half-veiled comments
about her sapatni to the Maharajah, and grew bolder as he appeared not to notice
them. But one day he reproved her, saying :

NINE WEAL INDIAN WOMEN 25

SUNITY

"You are still very young, Suruchi, and I think you misunderstand
Sunity. I know for certain that she is really fond of you, and there is none
like her."

This praise added fresh fuel to the smouldering fire of jealousy in the
younger Queen's heart, and she determined that she would effect the banishment
of her sister-wife.

Late, one afternoon, the Maharajah came to his favourite's room, as was
his wont. She was gorgeously dressed, as usual, and the brightness of her
apparel and face cheered him, for he was fagged and worried with the burdens
of State. He threw himself upon a golden lounge and, drawing Suruchi down
beside him, he fondled the beautiful, proud face and said :

"My loved one, there is nothing I would not give you."

The jealous girl knew that her hour of triumph had come, and she pouted.

"Why! my Suruchi," asked Uthanpad, looking adoringly into the
rebellious face, "what has vexed you?"

"Oh, I cannot explain to you!" the spoiled beauty replied, affecting a
sadness which she did not feel, "but I am returning to my father's house."

Uthanpad was horrified at the suggestion and, when he found his voice,
he asked, in an amazed tone, what had happened, and implored her to
tell him everything. Suruchi saw that her threat of leaving his roof had
unnerved him, and she thought it best to plunge boldly into the reason of her
discontent.

"What is the good of remaining here?" she said, mournfully. "I cannot
prove my devotion to you. Sapatni is everything, and if I venture to say a
word you immediately stop me. She is like a bright sun in your kingdom, and
I am but a poor little rush-light. No one cares for me, and I am absolutely
miserable." With these words, she hid her face in her hands and sobbed as if
her heart would break.

"Sweet wife, beautiful one," and Uthanpad folded her in his arms with
such passion that a thrill of triumph passed through Suruchi, which she quickly
changed into a quiver of grief. "You must not go," he said, you shall not

26 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

w

Sm^n\'— After worshipping god Vishnu Sunity always came to do puja to her husband.

^^

SUNITY

leave me. There is some misunderstanding, but I shall set it right. Sunity
loves you, and she will do anything for our happiness."

"Sunity loves me !" echoed Suruchi, scornfully. "There you are, again !
I said you do not listen to me. A word of complaint from me, and you say it
is some misunderstanding on my part ! That is what hurts me, so I have
decided that you must choose between us."

Just at this moment, the music of the evening piija arose. It was Sunity,
who prayed for all, and the sound of her conch-shell, and the ringing of bells,
told Uthanpad that his elder wife had finished her devotions and would soon be
with them.

"Sunity will be here, in a moment," he began gently, but could say no
more, as Suruchi pettishly interrupted, with, "So much the better. We can
settle the question immediately."

After worshipping the god Vishnu, Sunity always came to do puja to her
husband and brought with her a thalla of flower-garlands, which she herself had
made. She now entered, and, finding the room dark, smilingly asked Suruchi,
"Dear Sister, the arati is over; why is there no light in this room?"

Suruchi answered, irritably : "I didn't want the light."

The elder Maharani allowed the impatience of her sister-wife to pass
unnoticed. She was so used to Suruchi 's sharp ways. Glancing at their
husband with eyes of worshipping love, she placed the golden tray upon the
floor and was about to kneel down at his feet, when the younger Maharani asked
Uthanpad, disdainfully : "Why don't you tell her, now?"

The Maharajah did not answer.

"Will you, or will you not ?" demanded Suruchi, her eyes flashing angrily.

Uthanpad remained silent, and Sunity looked from him to her co-wife, with
her face full of wondering concern.

"Shall I speak, then?" asked Suruchi, and the impatience of her desire
to do so was very evident in her voice.

Still the Maharajah was dumb, and Sunity, looking at his troubled face,
turned to the younger wife and asked :

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 27

SUNITY

"Suruchi, what has happened? Is our lord ill? He looks unusually
tired, this evening."

Suruchi tossed her head, scornfully, and replied :

"There is nothing the matter with him. He is a weak man, that is all
and is afraid to hurt your feelings."

"Hurt my feelings!" echoed Sunity, perplexed and alarmed, not for
herself but for her husband, who was everything to her. "What is it, dear
sister? Do not keep me in suspense any longer."

' 'I do not wish to keep the matter from you, ' ' answered the younger Queen.
"The trouble is that there are two of us, and I have decided that, if you remain
here, I shall go back to my parents, or else I shall be the Maharani and you
may go back to your parents."

She had spoken rapidly, and now she paused for breath, and Sunity, who
could not perceive the venom that lay under the spiteful words, came closer to
her and said, in a peace-making voice :

"If I have done anything to vex you, tell me what it is, and will you not
forgive me ? You are to me a younger sister and I am your didi/^

"Forgive !" and the scorn of Suruchi 's tone cut Sunity like a lash. "Am

I in a position even to hear such words ? You rule the State, you rule the

palace, and everyone in it, and 3'ou ask me to forgive ! What power have I?"

"Dear sister", entreated Sunity, "do tell me what has vexed you? Let

me help you, if there is any misunderstanding."

"Oh, I am tired of that word !" exclaimed Suruchi, with an angry gesture,
but her anger-lit eyes and flushed cheeks added to her beauty, while Sunity,
in her distress, looked small and pale beside her. "It is always 'misunder-
standing', I am determined to end it, and shall begin with that string of pearls
round your neck. Why should you have everything ? That necklace belonged
to the State. Why should you always wear it ?"

The elder Maharani looked towards their husband, as if she expected that
he would answer his younger wife's question, and, had he spoken, this story
would, perhaps, never have been, but he remained silent, merely glancing, in

28 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

a troubled way, from one queen to the other. Sunity gathered, from his
silence, that he wished the gift of the necklace to remain secret between them.
She loved those pearls. Since her wedding-night they had always rested on
her neck, and seemed to her a pledge of her husband's love and she had hoped
never to part with them. But now she felt that her love for her lord demanded
a sacrifice on her part, so, unclasping the necklace, she held it out to her sapatni
and said :

"Here it is. I was married first, and the State thought I should have these
family pearls, but j'ou and I are sister-wives and what is mine is yours. Take
them."

Suruchi snatched the pearls from Sunity 's hand. Her face had been
angry and scornful before, but now it blazed with passion, as, with trembling
hands, she broke the necklace and flung the costly pearls from her.

"Dare you insult me? Dare you?" she panted. "Sunity, do you forget
that I, too, am a Rajnandini}" (King's daughter.) "Am I to beg presents
from my sapatnil You know that you have insulted me, and I shall never,
never forget it. You are the favourite wife, so stay here, and I shall go back
to my father."

"Oh, Suruchi," pleaded Sunity, "do not let us quarrel. Why cannot we
live together in our husband's house, like sisters? I really love you as my
sister."

"No," declared Suruchi, "there is no State, no palace, in the wide world,
large enough to hold us both. Our husband must make his choice. You stay
here, or I, not both of us."

There was no doubting the determination in her voice. She had exposed
her hand, and she felt that she could not now retract, nor did she wish to do
so. She must win or lose. Both Queens waited for the Maharajah's decision,
but he still maintained silence.

Suruchi spoke again, her voice harsh and decisive : "Well, my husband
and King, as you will not speak, I take it for granted that I, being the younger,
am to go," and she turned towards the door.

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 29

SUNITY

Her ruse succeeded. The Maharajah rose hastily from his seat and,
striding to Suruchi, caught her hands, beseeching her, passionately : "Don't
go! Don't leave me !"

In his haste, he stepped on the thalla of garlands that Sunity had so
carefully prepared. She saw her pretty flowers crushed and scattered, and felt
that it was her heart on which he trod. For an instant, the pain of his careless
and unconscious act held her in silent anguish. Then she quickly decided the
future and, kneeling at Uthanpad's feet, she clasped her hands, in worshipping
adoration, and bade him farewell.

"My devata (god), my husband," she said, "if I have ever displeased you,
pray forgive me. I am now deprived of my one happiness in life, and that is
to worship your feet."

She bent her head, in homage, till her forehead touched the Maharajah's
feet. Two great tears fell from her eyes and dropped on his bare instep and
Uthanpad started, but Suruchi had his hands tightly clasped in hers, and her
eyes held his. This was her hour of triumph, and she did not intend to lose it.

Sunity stood up, and addressed herself, quickly and affectionately, to the
exulting young Maharani :

"Dear sister, take care of our husband. And if I have in any way offended
you, please forgive me."

Silently, she dropped her tears in the dark room, and swiftly left it. To
her, the world was blank, all joy and happiness left behind. When she reached
her own apartments, Sunity yielded to her grief. Closing the doors, and
extinguishing the wicks in the gold pradip (lamps), she threw herself face
downwards on the floor, and sobbed as if her heart must break.

She cried out : "Why have I no son ? I would never have been deserted
by my husband, were there a child on my lap to-day. A woman who is
childless has no lasting happiness in her life. A son is the best ornament she
can have, and, because I am a childless woman, my husband has sent me away."

Then, with clasped hands, she prayed, whispering brokenly, "Vishnu,
oh, God, give me strength to bear my burden, or I cannot live. In mercy, give

30 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

me light and show me m}- path. What wrong have I done, that I should be
thus punished ? Am I not worthy of my lord ? Why should I lose the happi-
ness of being near him? Ah, God, guide me, help me in this darkness, and
forgive me, if I have done any wrong."

Her spirit grew stronger, as she prayed, and she said to herself, "My
father's last wish, on my wedding-day, was that my love for my husband should
be unselfish. Vishnu, give me grace, that my parents may never be disap-
pointed in me. If my love for my husband is true, teach me to suffer silently."
After a time, she became calm. It seemed to her that God had heard her
prayer. The darkness of her soul was not so intense and her mind felt clearer.
She opened the door, noiselessly, and went out into the garden. The Palace
was quiet. Returning to her room, she took off her jewels, leaving only the
mangal-siitra round her neck and a pair of thin gold bangles on her wrists. Her
mangal-siUra was her wedding-amulet, and was a string of black beads, with
a gold ball in the centre. She changed her sari for one of the plain silk ones
she wore when she did puja. Then, silently and secretly, she left the Palace,
where she had spent so many happy years, left her husband's home, and no one
saw her go.

It was a dark night, and Sunity hurried to the river. This was the only
part of the town that she knew, for she had often bathed at the ghat and
worshipped in the temple there. At first Sunity was frightened, for it was dark
and quiet and she had never in her life been out alone, but she again prayed for
strength and her brave spirit asserted itself. She walked on, and crossed the
boundary of her husband's kingdom and found herself on the bank of a wide
river, with a dense forest bordering it on each side. She continued along the
bank, journeying on through the night, and towards daybreak she discerned
some cottages.

Sunity bathed in the river, and said her morning prayers. Then, feeling
refreshed and invigorated, she walked towards the cottages. What a peaceful
sight met her eyes ! Soothing was the morning air, and she was attracted by
the calm and quietness of this topoban. The hermits were alread}' up and

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 31

SUNITY

about, some gathering flowers for their puja, others at worship, seated before
horn, or sacred fire. Others sat on tiger or deer skins, in yoga (meditation) or
chanting morning hymns. The whole atmosphere spoke of peace and holiness,
and was balm to poor Sunity's sad heart. She seated herself on the steps of a
cottage, and enjoyed the delightful scene. Birds fluttered everywhere. They
knew that, in this retreat, none would hurt them and, warbling new songs of
praise to their Maker, they flew from bough to bough or foraged in the verdant
grass. The sun rose, in golden splendour, and smiled once again upon the
earth.

Sunity felt that no sorrows or troubles could enter here, and her heart was
lifted up towards heaven. As she sat there, an elderly lady came out of the
cottage, clad in the g'arooa /^-coloured sari of a hermit. Her face was benign
and motherly, and, as Sunity rose and, with clasped hands, made her dandabat,
(act of homage or salutation) the moonipatni was struck with the refinement of
the stranger's appearance, and asked kindly, "Who are you?"

Sunity said gently, "May I call you 'mother', and the Moonibar, 'father' ?"

Her softly-modulated voice, and delicate hands and feet, proclaimed to the
hermit's wife that no ordinary person was addressing her, and she was con-
sidering her reply when her husband came to the cottage door. He was the
head mooni of the topoban, and his venerable face bespoke a sympathetic heart.
Sunity bent low and, touching his feet in salutation, asked : "Revered Sir,
may I call you 'father' ?"

The hermit and his wife had no children of their own and Sunity's request
appealed to the kindly old man. From that day, the saintly old pair looked
upon the unknown stranger as their daughter. They built a little hut for her,
close to their cottage, and there, unrecognized and lost to her world, lived
Sunity, the tenderly-cherished daughter of Dharmabrata Maharajah and the
Queen of the great Maharajah Uthanpad.

No sooner had Sunity made her exit from her co-wife's room than Suruchi
sprang to the door and closed and barred it. It seemed to her too much to
believe that Sunity was really going away, but Suruchi determined that she

32 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

would aid her in her departure b\^ leaving her undisturbed. Accordinglj'-, she
used ever\^ art to keep the Maharajah with her. More than once, he said that
he must go to Sunity and ask her fGrgi\-eness, and that the three of them must
try and live happily together. Each time, Suruchi succeeded in preventing
him fi'om carrying out his desire and, as he was really troubled, Suruchi danced
and sang to him, with such delightful abandon, that at last he forgot the
unpleasant happening and yielded to his younger wife's enchantment, com-
forting himself with the thought that Sunity would forgive and be as sweet as
ever.

But, in spite of his infatuation for Suruchi, Uthanpad really loved his first
wife, and early next morning he sent a message, asking her to come to him.
The maid returned, looking alarmed, and said that the Maharani Sunity was
not in her room, that her bed had not been slept on and that all her jewels lay
upon it. The King listened with dismay and then, heaving a deep sigh, and
without a word to Suruchi, left the antapur.

Not a trace of the missing Queen could be found, in palace or garden, so
the Maharajah despatched messengers in search of her all o-\er his capital and
kingdom, and then to Dharmabrata Raj, but without any result.

Sunitv's parents were o\'ercome with grief. Their minds flew back to her
early childhood and the sage's prophecy, "a great queen."

"What greatness is there ?" they asked each other. "She has been turned
out of her husband's home by a jealous sapatnj. And Sunity, our little Sunity,
out- delicately-nurtured and dearly-loved child, is now adrift, God knows where,
at the mercy of a pitiless world. Oh, the horror of it ! Win' did she not come
to;is?"

Then they learned, from Uthanpad 's messengers, that when Maharani
Suruchi had said, "One of us must return to her parents," the Maharani Sunity
had replied, "Why should I go to my parents? The\' married me to my
husband, and I shall live and die for him. A wife's love must be unselfish."

One after another, Uthanpad 's messengers returned, after a hopeless
search, and the conviction grew that the poor Maharani had drowned herself.

NLV£ IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 33

SUNITY

Word was brought to Suruchi that some boatmen had seen a figure on the bank
of the river at midnight. The boatmen had not spoken to her, because they
thought she was a banadevi (forest goddess.) Suruchi did not trouble the
Maharajah with this news. He preferred to remain away from her, so the
Maharani Suruchi would leave him alone !

At first, Uthanpad felt miserable at the loss of Sunity. The memory of
the happiness of his married life with her swept over his soul and filled his
mind with regrets and remorse. He blamed himself bitterly, for his weakness
with Suruchi. Had he been firm, she would have overcome her jealousy, and the
two queens would have li\-ed together as happily as sisters — like so many other
co-wives. Wh}^, he wondered, did he not tell Suruchi that the pearl necklace
was given by him to Sunity on their wedding-night, and so settled that matter.
Yes, it was all his fault. But he must now no longer indulge Suruchi. He
must show her how displeased he was, so he kept away from the antapiir
and absorbed himself in State affairs. Furrows of sorrow appeared on his
handsome face, and he forgot to smile. But, as the weeks lengthened into
months, and no tidings came of Sunity, he, too, believed that she had killed
herself. For a while, he sorrowed at her loss, but, as the edge of his grief wore
off, he became resigned, and yielded to Suruchi 's fascinations once again, and
she, who had been patiently waiting to catch his heart again in its rebound, was
very bright and sweet, so Sunity was forgotten, and Suruchi queened it, in
Palace and State.

In the hermitage, Sunity was known as moonipatni , and was loved by all.
Some addressed her by tlie sweet name of 'mother'. Others affectionately
called her didi (elder sister) and many, attracted by the gentle saintliness of her
life, bestowed upon her the beautiful title of devi (goddess.) None knew that
she was a Maharani, or an\^thing of her former life. She hid her sorrow in her
own heart, and devoted herself to the lives around her.

Sunity had always been fond of flowers, and now they became dearer to her,
for they seemed to speak to her of God's beauty, and their perfume revealed to
her the sweetness of His mercy. She made a pretty little garden in front of her

34 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

hut and the blossoms there gladdened the hearts of all in the iopohan. Creepers
covered the humble dwelling, and birds nested there and made the place gay,
with their songs. All the hermits declared that Sunity's tiny hut and garden
were to the iopohan like a flower ever in bloom and givin.y its sweetness to
others.

Sheltered in this peaceful retreat, Sunity's soul shook off its sorrow, and
expanded. Clearer to her mental vision came the reason of existence. Life is
given to each to help and to uplift the world, so all should forget themselves
and live for those around them. These reflections, and her practical applica-
tion of them to her own life, gave to her beauty a higher quality, and, in her
garooah sari of coarse cloth, Sunit}^, the unknown moonipatni, was lovelier than
Sunity, the Queen of Uthanpad.

About two years had passed away, when, one da}^ Maharajah Uthanpad
arranged a great shikar (hunt). After sa^nng goodbye to his handsome
Suruchi, who alwa\-s charmed him, with her bright, happy face Uthanpad
mounted his fine hunter, and the ca\alcade started. The shooting-party was a
large one, and they anticipated good sport, but after a few days' hunting in the
forest, it began to rain. The hunters stopped, hoping the weather would soon
clear, but the sky grew blacker and a severe: storm came on. The lightning
and thunder were terrible. So the party dispersed, riding away as fast as they
could to their homes.

Somehow, the Maharaja lost his attendants and his way. He galloped on,
but the vivid flashes of lightning frightened his horse, and the darkness between
the flashes, and the heavy jungle, hindered his progress. Ever and again, he
could hear the terrified roar of some fierce animal, as the thunder crashed and
the forest shook with the mighty gusts of wind.

Uthanpad's advance became slower and slower, and, finally, he dismounted
and, leaving his horse to go wherever it pleased, he endeavoured to make his
way on foot through the thick undergrowth. He had not gone far when a
breathing behind him convinced him that he was being stalked by a tiger. He
quickened his pace and, after a frantic struggle, through branches and creepers.

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 35

SUNITY

emerged into a clearing in the forest. A flash of lightning showed him the
outline of a hnt and he ran towards it, hurried up the steps of a tin^- verandah,
and knocked at the door. The rain was pouring in torrents and no one seemed
to have heard him, so he knocked more loudly, and called out :

"Oh, kind-hearted ones ! give me shelter. I am lost in the jungle.
Whoever you are, be kind, and God will bless you."

The door was opened, but a gust of wind extinguished the rush-light that
was burning within. Uthanpad stumbled into the hut, in the darkness, and he
heard someone close the door. By the lightning's glare, he saw the figure of a
woman .

"Revered lady," he said, "I know thou art vioonipatni. I am most
grateful to thee, for this shelter. I shall not give thee much troiible, and shall
depait immediately the storm is over."

"Sire," replied a gentle voice, and its trembling sweetness seemed familiar
to the Maharajah, "make yourself quite comfortable. I shall go to my mother's
cottage and sleep there. In these jungles, storms sometimes last for days."

"Oh, I am sure it will stop by morning", Uthanpad replied cheerfully
thovigh inwardly thrilled and puzzled by the sweet Aoice.

"Anyhow, Sire, will you stay here, and I shall go to my mother."

Again that haunting, familiar cadence ! He must hear her speak once
more, so he asked :

"How can you go anywhere, in this pouring rain? And there are tigers
prowling about."

"Tigers do not come inside this topoban," she answered, "and my father's
prayers are so powerful that should any fierce animals enter, they become as
mild and gentle as deer. Only peace and love reign here."

The Maharajah wondered if his senses were leaving him. This was the
voice of Simity ! ^Vho could this nioo)iipatni be ? Sunity re-lit her pradip
(oil-lamp) and, as the wick caught the flame, Uthanpad noticed her beautiful,
shapely hands and recognized them. But, to make quite sure that it was she,
lie asked : ♦

36 NINE IDEAL L\'DI.L\ WOMEN

SUNITY

"Moonipahii, why art thou alone here? Where is th}^ husband?"

Sunity trembled, hesitated and stammered : "He — my husband — is —
not—".

But the Maharajah did not wait for the end of her sentence. Those
trembling hands, that quivering figure, the hesitating speech, all told him that
it was really Sunity. He stepped up to her, pulled off the head-dress that
had covered and hidden her face, and said, in a glad voice :

"Is it you, my wife, my precious, long-lost Sumty ?"

Sunity fell at his feet, crying : "Yes, my lord, I am j'our poor, forsaken
wife."

He lifted her up in his arms, and held her closely to his heart, calling her
by every endearing name he had fondly given her in the long-ago happy days.
He kissed her face, her lips, her hair. It seemed as if he could never satisfy
his hungry heart, and she clung to him and sobbed out her grief and joy. Then
he broke into passionate self-reproaches, and asked her :

"Why did you shelter me? Why did you not let me die in the .storm?
I deserved it, or to be killed by a tiger. Sunity, mv beloved wife, I deserted
you. You wandered olit, alone, and I never tried to stop you. I should ha^•e
protected 3^ou from all trouble, but I did not. And now, to-night, you forget
all my neglect and my weakness and, like the angel that you are, take me into
shelter and sa\-e me. Oh, Sunity, Sunity, there has never been love like yours.
It is a pure and unselfish love, for you expected nothing in return. I am in
no way worthy of it, and I feel it more to-night than I ever did before."

Sunity answered all his self-upbraidings with these simple words :

"My husband and King, you are my all in all, now and for ever."

The next morning, Sunity told her adopted parents of her visitor, and who
he and she were. Uthanpad remained in the topohan, and lived there happily,
for some months.

In the meantime, the scattered hunting-party had returned, and told the
Maharani Suruchi of the storm , and how they had become separated from their
royal master. The Queen sent out search-parties, and one of them found the

NINE WEAL INDIAN WOMEN 37

SUNITY

King's horse wandering, riderless, and another returned with the Maharajah's
sword and told of tiger-tracks following the foot-prints of their master. So,
ever\^one concluded that Uthanpad had been killed by a tiger, or had walked
into the river in the forest. Suruchi administered the State and wept for her
husband. But one day, to her great joy, he returned.

The people were exceedingly glad to see their Maharajah among them once
more, and looking so wonderfully happy. But, in answer to her anxious
questions, Uthanpad told Suruchi so many different stories that she became
suspicious. Again and again, she returned to the subject, and one day received
a confused account of how he had been followed by a tiger and had climbed a
tree.

"Yes, but what did you do, when morning came ?" asked Suruchi. "Wh}'
were you so long in finding your way home ? ' '

"My dear wife," he replied loftily, but looking decidedly uncomfortable,
"you have no idea how dense the jungle is, and how an3^one lost there can
wander for days."

"Yes, for days," answered Suruchi," but not for months ! Was there no
topoban near? How did you live, all that time?"

This question hit the mark so closely that Uthanpad 's face coloured, and
he looked guilty. The remembrance of those happy, peaceful days with Sunity
held him in a dream, and he did not answer. But Suruchi was now sure that
he was endeavouring to conceal something from her, and she asked sharply :
"Why are you silent, my lord ?"

The imperious voice recalled him, but he was confused and answered
absently : "Sunity 1 mean, Suruchi, what is it you wanted to know?"

"Nothing," said Suruchi, rising and quitting the room, in offended
indignation. All her old jealousies returned to her. "How could he possibly
mistake me for Sunity?" she asked herself, "and what made him do so, after
all this time ? Where had he been ?" She began to think that perhaps, after
all, her sapatni was not dead, and that the Maharajah knew where Sunity was.

In the topoban, Sunity had been very happy, all the time Uthanpad had

38 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

been with her. It had been like the early days of her married life, having him
all to herself, only sweeter because of their separation and his remorseful love,
which could never atone to her for what he had made her suffer. He promised
that she should come back to him and vowed he would send an escort, to bring
her back as his Maharani. When he left, she li\ed on the memory of those
blissful days, and in fond expectation of the suite to take her home, but
Uthanpad had not the courage to fulfil his promise, and Sunity went on
wondering and hoping, till the birth of her child.

When the exiled Maharani first saw her babe, tears rolled down her cheeks,
tears, not of sorrow, but of joy and happiness. She took the loved mite in her
arms, and said :

"My son, my treasure, star of my soul, you are my own, my very own.
There is no one to share your love with me. There will be no parting with you,
my sweet son. Vishnu has heard all my prayers, and you are heaven's gift to
me, in my loneliness. God has given you to me, my son, and you shall be my
star, my happiness."

After the birth of her child, Sunity never again felt sad or lonely. Her
heart was full of gratitude, and, when she looked at the beautiful world around
her, she felt that God was all love, and thanked him for all his mercy to her.

The venerable Moonibar, whom she addressed as 'father', named the baby
Dhruba, and he grew to boyhood in the topoban. As he passed from infancy,
and his mind began to develop, Sunity felt that he, the heir of Uthanpad, was
not in his rightful place, and sometimes at night, when he slept, on his bed of
dry grass, she wept that he was unknown. But, ere morning came, she
always put aside her sorrow and had a bright face for Dhruba, who would ha\-e
cried to see his mother sad.

Often she wished that the boy were more like his father, but his face was
the image of hers and, as he grew, the likeness increased. In India, it is
considered lucky for a boy to be like his mother, and a girl like her father.

As Dhruba became older, he began to ask questions about his absent parent.
Sunity always answered : "He is handsome, kind and rich."

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 39

SUNITY

"When shall I see him, mother?"

"When you are a big boy, my son."

One day, the moonihalaks (sons of luooujs) asked Dhruba where his father
was, and he answered : "Mother says he is rich and handsome and clever and
when I am a big boy I shall see him." Another da^', the moonihalaks said :
"Dhruba, you are getting a big boy, now, and we feel shy, playing with you,
because you ha^e no clothes on. "

Dhruba ran back to his mother and kissed her sweetly, and told her what
the moonihalaks said. Sunity kissed his little face. There was a great pain in
her heart, to think that Maharajah Uthanpad's heir had no clothes to put on,
and that the moonihalaks should talk about it. She hid her feelings, and tore
a piece off her sari and clad him in it, saying, "My little Dhruba, you are all
right, now. You have the same garment as your mother."

Dhruba was five years old, when, one day, some of the boys in the hermitage
asked him to accompany them to a durhar. Dhruba assented eagerly, for he
had ne-\-er been out of the topohan in his life. The boys started off gaily and,
after walking briskly, entered a large city. Dhruba looked at everything with
great interest — the paved streets, the massi\-e buildings and the palace.

No one attempted to stop the boys, when they entered the durbar, for their
saffron-coloured garments showed that they were moonis' sons, and were their
passports. The soldiers on guard, the important-looking officials and the
resplendent throne awed the other boys, but Dhruba accepted all around him as
if born to it, and calmly proceeded to the throne.

The courtiers were struck with his appearance. He was tall for his age,
and very graceful, with a certain high-bred manner and dignity, gained from
continued companionship with his mother. His black curls covered his well-
shaped head and long, silken lashes heightened the beauty of his expressive,
black eyes, while the soft, velvety skin, and scarlet lips, gave to his bright little
face the final touch of perfection .

His companions, standing near the entrance, wondered at his temerity, and
every eye in the durhar was riveted on him, as he reached the foot of the throne.

40 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

But he was unconscious of what was going on around him, for his eyes, opened
wide and full of interest and enquiry, were gazing at Maharajah Uthanpad,
who was enthroned there.

The King with a strange quickening of the heart, noticed the little boy.
His face became flushed, and his breathing agitated, as he whispered within
himself, "This child is the image of Sunity. Can he be her son ?"

He bade the lad come to him. Dhruba responded eagerly, and, walking
up the steps of the throne, stood beside the Maharajah, who, stirred by some
impulse, lifted him on to his knee, fondled him and asked, "Who is your
father?"

Nobles and courtiers had noticed the child's wonderful resemblance to the
Maharani Sunity, and awaited his answer in breathless curiosity. Dhruba's
clear, treble accents rang through the silent assembly : "I have not seen him,
yet. My mother says that when I am a big boy I shall see him, and that he
is the best of fathers." His little head was proudly held, and he spoke with
earnest conviction of his father's worth.

"From where do you come?" asked the King.

"From the topohan," Dhruba replied, looking, with his great eyes, straight
into those of Uthanpad, who knew, then, that this lad was indeed Sunity's son.
So engrossed were the Maharajah and the boy with each other, that for them
the world had ceased to be, and they did not hear the rustling of silk behind
the curtain at the back of the throne.

"Who is your mother?" enquired the Maharajah, and the eagerness of his
tone convinced the listening one that the answer was freighted with interest for
the King.

"My mother!" — and Dhruba's silvery voice became enthusiastic, "you
will love her, when you see her ".

But his loyal eulogy was checked, for Suruchi appeared from behind the
throne, a regal figure of fierce jealousy, gleaming in cloth of gold and sparkling
with jewels, with her son beside her. She lifted Dhruba off the Maharajah's
knee and, setting him roughly upon the floor, said angrily.:

TSllNE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 41

SUNITY

"Who are ycu, little boy ? How dare you come and sit on the Maharajah's
knee? You are a beggar's child. Go away. Your mother should have known
better than to allow you to come here. This throne is not for a beggar's son,
but for a Maharajah's son. See, this is the boy for this seat of honour," and
she placed her own son on the Maharajah's knee.

Dhruba had never heard such a harsh voice, in his life. The Queen's
angry grasp had hurt his tender arm, and her speech frightened him. He
trembled with fear, and great tears rolled down his cheeks. His bright face was
now clouded, and his eager little heart beat fast. What had he done? he
wondered, but none ventured to enlighten or pity him. The Queen stood,
watchful and jealous, beside the King, who, with bent head and lowered eyes,
held her son upon his knee.

Dhruba, his little head drooping, saw and heard nothing around him, as
he walked to the door, a disconsolate little figure, his bearing so different from
the proud fearlessness with which he had entered the durbar. The mooni-hoys
felt sorry for their friend and, when he gained the entrance where they stood,
they grouped themselves protectingly around him, the two nearest holding his
hands in an elder-brotherly fashion, and all left the durbar.

As they walked quickly to the topoban, for they were fearful of pursuit,
they wondered aloud, in what way Dhruba had given offence, and expressed
their opinions and advice very freely. "How cruel the Maharani was — . The
Maharajah should have reproved her — . If being a Maharajah's son means
having a proud, cruel mother like her, we are glad we are not princes," and
so on.

Dhruba listened to his friends, but made no reply, for his heart was too
sore and too full for words. When they reached the topoban, the elder boys
suggested that they should play some games, and said to Dhruba :

"Come with us, and forget all about the haughty queen."

"Brother, forgive me," answered Dhruba, "I do not feel inclined to play,
I am going to my mother."

He turned away from them, and ran swiftly to the hut. Sunity was

42 N7JV£ IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

watching for him, for it was late, and his evening meal had long been ready.
He threw himself into her arms, and bnrst into tears. This was so unusual
that Sunit^^ wondered what could have happened, and kissed him, again and
again He lay sobbing in her arms and, thinking he was over-fatigued, she
carried him into the hut and said :

"You are tired, my son. Have your supper, and go to sleep."

Dhruba answered, with afresh burst of grief: "No, mother, I am not
tired. I want my father ! I want my father !"

In keen distress, Sunit}' pressed him to her heart. Oh, the hidden pang
of that moment ! Anguish choked her, for a few tense seconds, and when she
spoke, her voice held chords of sorrow and dread that were new to Dhruba.

"My child, my child, my precious son ! You will see him, you will, when
you are bigger. Have I not often told j^ou so?"

"Yes, mother, but I want him to-night. Where is he ? I must go to him,
for the mocmi-hoys urge to tell it all to my father."

"What has happened to you to-day, Dhruba ? Tell me, my son, tell me, "
begged Sunity, once more throwing her arms round her child, and kissing him
feivently.

And Dhruba, with his head pillowed on her gentle breast, told her all
concluding with : "I am sure if my father knew, he would be very sorry, and
would tell the Maharani that I am not a beggar's son."

Poor Sunity ! how the boy's artless words cut her soul. What an inextri-
cable position it was ! She, living hidden and unknown ! Her son, the heir to
Uthanpad's throne, unacknowledged and now spurned ! And Suruchi with a
son, and scheming for his succession. Oh, it was a terrible tangle, and Sunity
lived over all her suffering again and suffered afresh, but now her anguish was
keener and more crushing, for she suffered for and with her child. She felt
Suruchi 's harsh touch, she heard her cruel words, and she felt as if her own
bleeding heart could bear no more, and that death would be more welcome than
life. But her love for her child gave her new strength and she controlled her-
self and said to him, soothingly :

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 43

SUNITY

"Dhruba, my precious one, now forget all, and come and have supper."

The boy did not notice her' request. Instead, he asked :

"My mother, tell me, who can make me happy, and dry my tears, if I

cannot go to my father? Dear mother," and he put his little arms around her

neck and looked most winningly into her face, "my heart is sad, and I want

to be happy."

Sunity's soul was pierced through and through. She crushed the boy to

her heart, and he wondered at the vehemence of her embrace. Bitter thoughts

chased one another through her gentle mind, "Could not Suruchi have spared

my child, my innocent little Dhruba? She is a mother, herself, and yet she

hurts him, to hurt me !"

Yet again, she overcame herself and strove to comfort Dhruba :

"My good little son, have patience ! You will see your father one day."

"But, is there no one else who can help me, mother?"

"Yes, Dhruba, there is one who can dry all tears and comfort every heart."

"Who is he, mother?"

"He is Hari, (God) my Dhruba."

"Where does He live, mother? Where does He live?"

Sunity said, lightly : "In the thick, very thick jungle, where no one

can go."

"You are quite sure, dear mother, that Hari can make any one happy, who

goes to Him ? ' '

"Yes, my son, perfectly happy."

"Can He make me happy, too, mother?"

"Yes," said Sunity, kissing him.

Dhruba smiled, radiantly, and, kissing his mother, said : "Oh. I am glad

He can. Now, I shall have supper."

Sunity was pleased that her simple words had comforted him. He was

to her, still, her baby, and no thought entered her mind of his wandering forth

into the forest, to find this wonderful Hari, who held happiness in his hands.

She had frequently told him that no mortals had ever penetrated there. She

44 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

did not perceive that her words had made a deeper impression than usual, for
she had often talked to Dhruba of the gracious personality of God, and the child
had always listened eagerly for he was extraordinarily intelligent and receptive.
But to-night, she struck a deeper note on his pure, young heart, and his spirit
bounded forward, in advance of hers, and he determined to meet and know
his God.

After their supper, mother and child sought their humble bed of dried
grass, and Sunity slept, but Dhruba lay awake beside her. His mind, excited
by the day's unusual happening, his grief and his desire to see Hari, would
not let him sleep. At last, the eager longing made him rise. He sat up
quieth^ and looked at his mother. She was in a deep sleep, but her troubled
mind had caused her to dream, and to weep in her dream, and Dhruba saw great
tears roll down her cheeks. The boy wondered, "Is there any sorrow in her
life ? Or does she know I am going to leave her and go to the jungle, to
find God?"

He watched her for a while. Then, clasping his hands, he praj^ed, in
a whisper :

"Hari, great God, I am leaving my mother, to-night, to find you. But
she is all I have, in this world, and I am all she has. Kind Hari, when she
wakes and calls me, will you be Dhruba and answer her, and call her nia,
(mother)? Do, dear God, comfort her, and take care of her, for me."

He got up noiselessly to his feet, and walked gravely five times round his
sleeping mother, praying all the time to God to watcli over her, in his absence.
Then he knelt at her feet, clasping his hands and touching the ground with
his forehead in filial homage, afraid to wake her if he touched her feet, and
whispered, "Mother, this is my farewell. If I find Hari, I shall return to you,
but if I do not find Him, I shall never come back. When you wake, you will
find the hut empty, with no Dhruba here, and, when you call me, the echo will
mock you, but mother, pray that I may find God. Then I shall come back, and
3'ou will see your Dhruba again. Goodbye, poor mother, dear mother."

Dhruba stood up, and looked at his mother's beautiful, still face, and the

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 45

SUNITY

seriousness of his expression seemed far beyond his tender years, as he pressed
his hands closely together, and said, in an intensity of supplication: "God,
merciful God, take care of mother. I go to find you."

Then he unlatched the door and stepped out on the little verandah. There
was a strong breeze, which blew out the pradip in the hut, when he opened the
door. Dhruba feared that, if he went in, to re-light it, he might waken his
mother, so he gently fastened the door, and left the hut.

To the guardian-spirit of the night, the darkness in the hut after Dhruba
had left it, seemed symbolical of the darkness which would engulf the poor,
exiled queen without her son. He was the light of her life.

It was a dark night and, anon, the roar of a tiger reverberated through the
forest. But Dhruba 's fearless spirit did not quail. His mind was set on
finding God, and he paid little attention to what surrounded him. He spent
the whole night wandering about in the forest, praying to Hari and begging
Him to reveal Himself. Dawn found the boy far away from the topoban.
Plunging into a forest stream, he refreshed his body, said his usual morning
prayers and resumed his quest.

Thus, this artless child spent six months wandering in the virgin forest,
calling, ever calling, upon God to show Himself. At times, kneeling upon
a rock, he ravished Heaven with his pleading. Then, prostrate on the grass
or hard earth, he wrung the angels' hearts with his tears and cries. With all
the strength of his being, he hungered and thirsted for God, and he called upon
all nature to assist him in his search.

To the birds, he cried : "Oh winged ones, are you flying through the
sky to Hari} Tell Him Dhruba wants Him on earth."

To the fruit : "Are you hanging here and ripening because Hari told you
to? Tell Him I want to see Him."

To the lotus : "Are you so beautiful because you do puja (worship) to
Hari's feet? Tell Him that Dhruba's heart wants to be like you and
worship Him."

To the winds, he cried : "O Winds of Heaven, carry my prayer to Hari.

46 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

I want Him to come here to me."

He was standing by a river, praying, when he saw a peacock, and he
addressed the beautiful bird and said : "No, surely, I have seen God, for
mother told me He is beautiful."

The King of Birds spread out his beautiful tail, and danced before the
boy . Dhruba wandered on, and in the evening stillness met a deer. Approach-
ing it, with welcoming hands, he said : "Ah, you must be God ! Mother told
me He had loving, tender eyes."

The gentle deer knelt beside him, and he stroked and caressed it. In the
brightness of the moon, at midnight, a tiger came close to the little boy, who
exclaimed, joyfully : "I have found God, at last. Mother always said He is
grand. You must be God."

The tiger looked at the child, then came closer and knelt in homage and
placed his head on Dhruba's feet. Dhruba smiled a tender smile, and knew
that he had again mistaken a beautiful creature for the All-Beautiful Creator.
And now, the boy felt his heart break with desire, and he called aloud, in tones
of piercing supplication :

"O Hari, Padma-Palash Lochan Haril'' (lotus-petal-eyed) "do not my
prayers touch your feet ? Do you not know that Dhruba wants you ? I cannot,
I will not, leave the jungle, until I see and know my God. Come, O Hari, Hari,
Hari, come to me."

Looking up, Dhruba saw, standing in front of him, a jogi, in hermit's attire,
with a musical instrument in his hand. Dhruba fell at his feet, crying :

"You are my God ! You are Hari !"

Lifting him in his arms, the hermit said :

"No, little Dhruba, my child, I am only devoted to Hari. My name is
Narad."

"Shall I not see God, then, oh, Narad nworii}"

"Yes, my child, you will see Him, but, Dhruba, you have not been
initiated, so your mind and body have yet to be purified."

Dhruba anxiously said :

NINE WEAL INDIAN WOMEN 47

SUNITY

"Revered Sir, be kind. Lose no time in initiating me."
Narad bathed the child in the river Jumna and initiated him, and then said :
"Dhruba, go to Madhu Ban. There you will pray to Hari, and He will

come to you."

Dhruba thanked him, and touched his feet. Narad blessed him, saying :

"God, the great God, for whom I wander from world to world, is pleased
with you, Dhruba. You will find Him in Madhu Ban, because He loves
bhakta" (devoted).

Dhruba travelled on to Madhu Ban, and there he prayed to Hari, day and
night, for several days.

It was the hour of dawn, the hour of greatest peace, the hour when pulsing
life receives a thrill, a renewal of the greater life, which beats beyond this earth.
Heaven was pierced with his ardent cry. The devas (gods) left their thrones
and, hovering above the pure-hearted bov, cast a wondrous rediance round him.
The angels left Heaven and, hiding themselves behind the clouds and stars,
waited to watch the meeting of God and Dhruba.

And, as they waited, they filled the forest and sky with strains of sweetest
song. Now, the heart of Heaven opened, and the mystery of God descended
to Earth! Devas and angels clasped their hands to Para-Brahma, (the
Supreme Spirit) as His glory passed them, and the forest lay entranced and
luminous, in the effulgence of God. Hari had come ! The Hands of God
blessed the simple faith of Sunity's son. The Heart of God enveloped him,
in divine love. The Arms of God held him, in inefi'able joy.

Devas and angels showered heavenly flowers on Dhruba, who rested there
in supreme content, listening to the voice which came to his ears :

"Dhruba, your faith has conquered. I am yours, and shall be ever with
you, wherever you go, and your name shall live on earth while time shall last.
You shall ever be remembered, in the world, by my love. For I am going
to make a new heaven for you, and it will shine and guide people in this world,
that they may never go astray."

Bathed in the radiance and love of God, Dhruba did not forget his mother,

48 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

and he prayed for her, asking :

"Dear God, come with me to my mother, and make her happy." And
Hari left him, with the beautiful promise :

"My son, I shall be with you always, wherever you go."

Alone in the hut, Sunity awoke in the darkness, and found that Dhruba
was not beside her. She lit the prudip, and discovered that he was not in the
hut. Then a terrible fear came upon her, and she ran from the cottage, calling,
"Dhruba, Dhruba!"

Topoban, forest and sky echoed "Dhruba! Dhruba! Dhruba!" but no
answer came. Ever and again, the echo gave back her heart-rending cry,
"Dhruba! Dhruba! Dhruba!" Then Sunity cast herself on the earth and
wailed :

"Oh, Suruchi, what have I done? Why do you thus persecute and
punish me? You robbed me of my husband. I forgave you because he loved
you, and I gave 3^ou my place, my jewels, my all. Could you not spare my
Dhruba? First you hurt my boy's heart, and you have had him taken away
from me ! "

In the anguish of her grief, she rushed now here, now there, searching,
calling, weeping, praying. "Oh, stars," she cried, "take care of my treasure !
Shine brightly on him, wherever he is. Oh, Wind, be kind to my boy !
Fan him, cool him and refresh him ! — Trees, shade my son ! — Soft grass, spread
yourself under his feet, and let not Earth or stones hurt him. — Fruit, ripen
for him, if he hungers ! — Rivers, quench his thirst, lave his body !" And she
prayed :

"O Hari, Vishnu, most merciful God, watch o\'er my precious son, the star
of my clouded life."

The topoban was awakened by her cries of sorrow, and when the moonis
found her in the forest, she did not know them. All their search for Dhruba
was in vain, and poor Sunity 's life was darkened and hopeless.

Spring-time returned, and all the earth seemed joyous and full of hope
and gladness. In the topoban, the birds flew gaily from branch to branch, and

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 49

SUNITY

Sunity's garden was a promise of a wealth of loveliness. But the hut was
silent and deserted. Sunity had never entered it, since the day Dhruba left.
The morning breeze found her under an old peepul tree, where she now almost
lived. Did she dream of Dhruba? She heard his dear voice calling:
"Mother, mother". Nearer and clearer sounded her boy's loved accents :
"My mother, my mother !"

She opened her sorrow-laden eyes, and saw Dhruba, and he saw her. The
darkness fell away from her mind and heart. "Hari, Vishnu," she cried,
"I thank thee," and she opened wide her arms and ran to meet her boy. Soon
they were locked in an ecstatic embrace, and the sun seemed to shine more
brightly, and the birds sang songs of gladness. The whole topoban rejoiced
with Sunity and her son.

Once more, the little hut held them both, and now Sunity asked : "Why
did you leave me ? ' '

And Dhruba answered simply : "To find God."

She asked : "Where is God? Have you found Him?" and when he
replied, "Yes," she asked again : "Where is He?"

Dhruba said : "If you close your eyes, mother, you will see Him, with
me." Then mother and son knelt down and prayed, and when their puja was
over, Sunity said :

"Now, my Dhruba, we shall live happily together in the topoban/'

"Oh, no, mother," Dhruba answered, "I must go and see the Maharani,
and thank her for her kindness, for through her I have found my God."

"What ! see Suruchi !" and Sunity told her boy the story of her life.

Dhruba's love and sympathy were very sweet to her, and when he said :
"Mother, we shall both go and thank Suruchi-wa, because she has made
your son so happy," Sunity only said, "But you will not run away from me
again, Dhruba?" He replied :

"No, dear mother, but I should like you to take me to Suruchi-i»a.^' So,
hand in hand, the exiled Queen and her saintly son walked to the Palace of
Uthanpad.

50 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

From the day of Dhruba's appearance at the durbar, Uthanpad's thoughts
had been full of Sunity. He felt, without a doubt, that the beautiful boy was
his and hers, and Suruchi's harshness to the child had hurt the Maharajah
sorely. Now he experienced a great revulsion from his younger Queen, and
ceased to go near the antapiir. When in the Palace, he kept to his own rooms,
unless engaged in State aifairs, and his mornings were spent in long rides,
endeavouring to trace Sunity and her son.

The news of her husband's enquiries soon reached Suruchi and, already
uneasy, she became alarmed, and sought to regain her old ascendancy over the
King. But, when she approached him, he showed severe displeasure, and
said :

"I am just waiting for the happy day when I shall be re-united to my
Sunity."

The tone of his voice told Suruchi that she had lost her place in his love.
Her heart ached, for she loved her lord, and she pleaded with him, but he
answered :

"No, no, you care only for my throne and grandeur. Enjoy these, and
leave me in peace . ' '

Suruchi did not know what to understand from h-'s words, and a great
alarm possessed her. Left to herself, she began to listen to the little inward
voice, which had always reproached her for her jealousj' of her co-wife. The
years had not been without their cares for her, and she had begun to see the
higher side of Sunity's character. Now, under the bitterness of her husband's
displeasure, she began to realise what Sunity's renunciation and separation
must have cost her. Then, Suruchi, too, had a son, and, in her anxieties for
his welfare, she realised what Sunity had suffered, and must be suffering, for
her boy. Regret and remorse were taking the first place in Suruchi's mind,
during the six months that Dhruba wandered in the forest, and while Sunity's
sorrow at her son's absence almost quenched her life.

When Dhruba and his mother entered the durbar, Uthanpad Maharajah
was seated on his throne, with a gloomy brow and saddened face. Suruchi sat

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 51

SUNITY

by his side, but her former brightness and self-confidence were gone, and she
looked nervous and ill at ease. In her secret soul she dreaded that the King
might one day order her banishment from the State, and she lo\ed him and
her child.

The garooah-clad Maharani and her son walked humbly to the throne.
E%'ery eye in that vast assemblage recognized them, and every heart thrilled at
the saintly bearing of the long-exiled Queen and the radiant beauty of the boy
who stepped beside her.

But Sunity trembled with fear, as she entered the durbar. She dreaded
Suruchi, and her one thought was that Dhruba would again meet with scorn
and repulsion and again hide himself in the forest. So she held his hand
tightl}' in both of hers, and came only because she dared not lose sight of her
boy.

The Maharajah's heart bounded with joy, when he saw Sunity approaching
the dais. He left his throne and, descending the steps, came forward to meet
his first wife and elder son, and Suruchi followed, accompanied by her little
son. Fear and shame struggled for mastery, in the younger Maharani 's face.
When Dhruba saw her coming, with his father, a great gladness came into his
eyes, and he fell at her feet, saluting her with gratitude and humility and
saying :

"Suruchi-JHa, bless me. May I never forget the gift you gave me, the
gift of knowing God."

Suruchi looked ashamed and frightened at first, but, as Dhruba 's words
sounded in her ears, wonder, surprise and contrition chased one another across
her handsome, and now care-worn, face. She lifted Dhruba to his feet, and,
with tears of sorrow pouring down her cheeks, implored him to forgive her.

The saintly boy put his arms round her, and said :

"Don't cry! don't cry! I love 3-ou. You have been a true mother to
me, for, through you, I hold Hari in my heart."

Then he released himself from her caresses and, kneeling before Uthanpad,
touched his feet and craved a father's blessing. Suruchi turned from Dhruba

52 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

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to throw herself on her knees before Sunity.

'^Didi, didi," she cried, "I am glad you have come. Take your seat on
the throne, beside our husband, and forgi^•e me for all my jealousy and cruelty.
I shall go away, for you are an angel, and I am not fit to be near you, but let
me take your forgiveness with me. Once you called me' sister' and asked me
to love you. Oh, call me by that endearing name again, and let me love you ! "

Sunity begged her to rise, and then, standing beside her, said,
affectionatel}^ :

"I always thought of you with love, and you are still my younger sister.
Do not talk of going away, for I have not come to live here. This Palace-life
would not suit me, now. Stay, dear Suruchi, and make our husband happy."

But at these words, Uthanpad came between the Queens and, looking at
Sunity, said, in a loud, angry voice :

"Make me happy ! I do not wish to see Suruchi again."

The harshness of his tone thrilled the court. Sunity had never heard him
speak in anger, and his wrath made her tremble, while Suruchi sank on her
knees before him, in awful fear and speechless with grief. Suruchi 's son clung
to his mother, sharing, though not understanding, her trouble.

But now Dhruba knelt down and said, gently :

"Maharaj, kind father, do not be vexed. Suruchi-ma is my best friend.
And she proved to 3'ou the unselfishness of my mother's love. We can all live
happily, now."

The earnest request, the reverence of his manner and the silvery music of
his voice calmed the angry King. He drew the boy nearer to him, and listened
quietly, while Sunity spoke.

"My lord," she began, "I came here for Dhruba's sake," and she related
the story of his seeking and finding Hari, and why he came to see Maharani
Suruchi, concluding with, "Now, ni}' lord and husband, give me leave to return
to the topoban/'

"Never! never shall I let you go again !" said Uthanpad, holding her
tightly by her arm, as if he feared she would run away.

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 53

SUNITY

"Oh, my lord," she pleaded, "I could not, now, be happy in a court. Let
me return to the peaceful hermitage."

"If you go, I shall go with you," said Uthanpad. "There shall be no
more cruel separations for you and me."

"Oh, father," cried Dhruba, his joyful eyes still more full of happiness,
"how delightful it will be, to have you in the topohan, with mother and me."

The King startled. Remembrance of his kingly duty came back to him.

"No, no, my son," he said, "you cannot return to the forest. The throne
is yours. I must place you upon it, before I go."

"Father, Maharaj," answered Dhruba, "pray, crown my little brother,
Uthanpad. I love the hermit life. My happiest home is in my mother's lap, "
and his face paled at the thought of kingship and its responsibilities.

But, when the younger prince heard his brother's words, he left his
weeping mother's side and, running to Dhruba, flung his arms around him,
crying :

"Dada, I do not want to be Maharajah while you are here, but I shall serve
you as a servant. Do not listen to him, my King-father, crown him."

Cries of admiration filled the durbar. Were ever princes like these !
The Maharajah waited till the burst of rapture was ended. Then he took his
elder son's hand, and said :

"Dhruba, you are my first-born and heir. We know each other as father
and son, to-day, and the first and last request I make is for you to rule the
kingdom, and leave me free to retire to the hermitage with your mother, and
spend the evening of my life in penance and prayer."

Dhruba's eyes filled with tears, but he answered : "A son's duty is to
obey."

In the few weeks they spent together, during the preparations for
Dhruba's coronation, Suruchi could not do enough to show her deep repentance.
Uthanpad forgave her, but she saw that she had ceased to hold any part in his
life. When the royal pair were departing for the topohan, Sunity begged
Suruchi to be a mother to her precious Dhruba, and Suruchi humbly promised.

54 NINE WEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SUNITY

All her pride had fallen from her, and, though Dhruba had proclaimed that
she was to remain in the Palace as Queen-Mother, her humility and dejection
were profound.

When the moment of farewell came, Sunity took Dhruba in her arms, and
strained him again and again to her heart, and Dhruba hid his face in her neck,
and whispered :

"Mother, best of mothers, I am so happy. I ha\e found God and known
my father, and it is all because of you and 3'our prayers. Bless me, mother,
that I may be a good man, and do my duty in the world. I shall ever be known
as 'Snniiy-nandan', (Sunity 's son). God is with you, my sweet little mother.
He will care for you. You have suffered much, but will be happy, now."

Great tears rolled down his cheeks. Sunity kissed his loved face.

"My precious son," she said, and her voice was tender and loving, and
comforted Dhruba, in this pain of parting, "God is sending you to do His work
on the throne of Uthanpad. He will guide and keep you."

Then Sunity turned away, and went with Uthanpad to the topoban. He
had given up throne and State, and now separated himself from the world, to
spend his last days in prayer and preparation for the next life. He carried
only one treasure with him to the hermitage, the priceless pearl necklace.
Clasping it round Sunity 's neck, when they reached the hut, he said to her :

"Dear wife, only a saint can wear these pearls. I gathered them up, when
Suruchi broke the string, and had them re-strung and kept them for you, in
the hope of finding \'ou some day, and now they are yours again, for you are
not only a saint yourself, but the mother of a saintly son. You are my heavenly
guide, m}' angel, my life's star."

Together, Uthanpad and Sunity lived happy lives, in the hermitage, for
many years.

Dhruba reigned on earth for a long time, and, when his term of mortal
life was ended, God created a new heaven and enthroned him there, saying :

"This Heaven shall shine for ever, and who seeks the true path, and looks
at this star, shall be guided by its shining."

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SUNITY

And this new Heaven is called, by Hindus, Dhruba-loka or Dhruba-tara
and the Western world knows it as the Pole Star, and it will keep shining till
Time is no more.

56 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAKUNTALA

SAKUNTALA

In the days of the remote past, when the Kings of Chandra- Vansa (Lunar
Race) reigned at Prayag (modern Allahabad), a sage, named Bishwamitra, lived
the life of a hermit in the forest of the district now known as Bijnor, in the
United Provinces.

So great were his austerities, that all men feared him and even the devas
became alarmed lest, by his fasts and vigils, he should wrest a favour from
Heaven, become a god and, by the power of his sanctity, destroy the beautiful
earth. From their thrones of bliss, they often observed him at his devotions.
Frequently, for days together, no food or water passed his lips and, whatever
the season or weather, he sat in the open air, on a rock, and prayed, and prayed
and prayed.

"We must do something," said the devas, "or this mooni will obtain power
to destroy the creation. Somehow or other, his tapa (prayers) must be stopped,
and he must be made to see life with more human eyes. "

They decided to go to Menaka, the most beautiful of all the celestial fairies,
and, when they met her, they implored her to grant their wish and descend to
the earth and tempt Bishwamitra. Poor Menaka shrank from the task, but the
devas assured her that no harm would befall her, and said :

"All we want you to do is to show Bishwamitra the beauty of mortal love.
It is the real link between man and God, and no human life is perfect without
the knowledge that comes from love and suffering for the loved ones. Go,
Menaka, and you shall be blessed as no fairy has ever before been, and your
child shall give to the world a .son of the royal race of the Moon, whose name
shall never cease. "-

Menaka sorrowfully descended to the earth, and found Bishwamitra upon
his prayer-worn rock, and she waited quietly for him, beside the river. For

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 57

SAKUNTALA

hours, the mooni's eyes remained closed and his limbs and body motionless, as
he meditated on God and strove to see the Beatific Vision. But, ever and again,
his soul was beaten back to earth, till it seemed to him that something was wanting
to his experience, to make him one with the Supreme Intelligence.

"When heaven fails, earth helps," he said to himself and opened his eyes,
to gather fresh inspiration from the moonlit world, and he saw a beauteous vision
resting on the grass, by the river.

"Has the river-goddess come out to enjoy the spell of night?" he asked
himself. But something ethereal enveloped the recumbent form and drew his
eyes to it once again, and he wondered, "Who can it be, so beautiful, so
spiritual?" Then, curiosity laid her wand upon him and he rose from his
prayer-rock, stole to the river, and stood and watched the fairy-maiden.

Menaka's quivering eyelids told the moorii that she was not a vision, but
a living soul. The wind stirred her gossamer draperies, revealing the fairness of
her limbs and all her witching grace. Her soul fainted within her, and she dared
not open her eyes. Would he annihilate her with the gleam of his joy-sealed
eyes ? As these thoughts flitted through her mind, she trembled and her bosom
heaved. Something throbbed within the mooni's heart and made him wish
to see her eyes. He drew a step nearer, and asked : "Who are you?"

Menaka did not know how to answer, and kept her eyes veiled and gazed
upon the further bank. "Who are you?" again asked Bishwamitra, and the
cadence of his voice attracted her attention. It held an emptiness a harshness,
born of the narrow judgments of his life. Rising, she fluttered to his side, and
said alluringly, "Oh, Moonibar, Revered Sir, I am alone," and cast herself, in
breathless, palpitating homage, at his feet.

The music of her voice struck deep on Bishwamitra 's arid heart. It seemed
in keeping with the radiant form, the wondrous grace, that knelt before him,
on the velvet grass. "Alone !" — ^the pathos of that cry awakened his earthly
soul. A newer view of life was in his ken.

He bent to her and whispered, soft and low : "Fair one, you must not be
alone. Pray, come with me. My humble cot shall shelter you."

58 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAKUNTALA

Menaka said : "I thank you, Revered Sir. I am grateful for your kind
offer, for in this forest I have no sheher, and I accept your hospitality." She
rose and followed him along the river bank, over the wind-swept grass, and
through a forest glade and, as they went, fierce tigers met them on the way.
But Bishwamitra spoke to them, and the lords of the primitive jungles bowed
their heads in homage and slunk away. Then Menaka knew that the sage had
wonderful power, by which even the wild beasts became harmless, and she
trembled once again. When they reached the hut and Bishwamitra signed to
her to go in, she hastily obeyed, and shut the door. And Bishwamitra spent
the night without, but his soul was ravished and he did not sleep at all.

When the morning came, he called to her to come and break her fast.
Then Menaka opened the door, and stepped into the sunlighf, and he saw her
wondrous eyes, and longed to be the sun, to kiss her cheeks and play among
the raven masses of her hair.

"Fair maid," he said, and the new depth and timbre of his voice arrested
her, and she turned to him and listened attentively. "You said you are
alone. Stay here, and be my own. I love you."

They spent a happy time together, and then, one morning, as Bishwa-
mitra strolled along the river bank, Menaka came to him, with a new-born
babe within her arms, and, uncovering the lovely, tiny face, she said :

"Revered Sir, thi^ is your child. What shall I do with her?"

Then Bishwamitra hid his eyes, and cried in horror :

"What have I done? Am I a father? Where are my vows of life-long
celebacy ? My tapa, of long years, all are ruined, and I, who tried to get a
higher seat than all the devas, stand here an ordinary human being, the
height of my pride all gone. — Away ! away ! do as thou wiliest, with the child
and thyself. I shall bury myself in the thick forest, where none can find me,
and cleanse my soul by penance and prayer, ' ' and he left her.

Menaka wandered in the jungle, with the child, and moaned : "What
shall I do with this poor babe? I cannot take her back to Heaven with me.
I must leave her, here . If she is saved, and grows to womanhood, we yet

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 59

SAKUNTALA

may meet again." Then, tenderly kissing the child, she placed her under a
tree, saying in farewell : "My love will protect you, my babe." And,
springing upwards, she floated through the air and returned to Heaven.

The babe lay at the foot of the tree, and her piteous crying touched the
hearts of a pair of sakuntas. The saktmta was a great bird that existed in those
long-ago ages. When these birds saw the deserted babe, they carried her to
their nest, and suckled and cherished her. And Menaka's babe throve under
the care of the sakuntas, until, one day, a holy man, known as Kanva mooni,
saw her playing with the birds.

He approached closer to see this strange sight, and, as he came near the
sakuntas moved away from the human child, and Kanva understood that they
resigned the babe to him. So he carried her to his sister, Goutami, who lived
with him in his ashram, and they adopted the child, and called her Sakuntala,
after the birds.

Kanva and Goutami brought her up with loving care, and shielded her
from all knowledge of the world, and she grew to maidenhood in the ashram,
as a lotus grows to loveliness in a peaceful lake. Priyambada and Anushua,
the daughters of two hermits who were chelas (disciples) of Kanva mooni, were
her constant companions, and, hand in hand, they spent the golden days of
youth in the virgin forest which surrounded the ashram.

All in the hermitage loved Sakuntala. Her beauty had the impress of
purity upon it, and made them think of the paris of the immortal world. But
the maiden grew up innocently unconscious of her beauty, and spent her days
in the duties of a simple sylvan life. In the morning she gathered flowers
from her garden, for the worship of God, then fed her pets and friends, the
animals and birds of the forest. She called the gentle deer her children, the
baby-elephants her brothers and sisters, and the many birds her grand-
children. She gave a name to each, and all knew her voice and came when she
called, and understood what she said. In the afternoon, she tended her garden,
watering the plants, and gathering choicest flowers, and making them into
garlands for the evening puja. And ever, as she worked and played, her heart

€0 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAKUNTALA

weaved the song of divine love into the web of her life.

So, time passed on, and Sakuntala, Priyambada and Anushua were grown
maidens, and they sat in the forest one afternoon, making garlands of flowers.
A beetle buzzed around Sakuntala and disturbed her so that she cried : "Oh,
drive away this bhramarl" (beetle.)

One of her friends said laughingly : "Just think of the great Maharajah
Dushmanta. He is the only one who can rescue us from our enemies."

"Don't tease !" responded Sakuntala.

"It is not teasing," replied her friend. "The Maharajah frees the deer
from the fierce tigers. He is a true knight, and helps all who seek his aid.
Why should he not rescue you from this giant beetle ? ' '

Dushmanta Maharajah sat on the Lunar throne at Hastinagar, and he was
a mighty hunter and often roamed the jungle, to exercise his skill in shooting.
He was out hunting that afternoon, and had followed a deer. He left his
escort, and found the deer entering the ashra^n. Walking to the garden, he
heard his name spoken, and parted the branches, to see who called. It was in
the spring, and the topoban looked its best. Flowers of various colours
bloomed on the banks of the crystal river, which ran swiftly through the garden.
The trees lifted up their new leaves to the skies. All nature was rejoicing in
the bright afternoon sun.

Dushmanta's reflections had been "Truly, this is a happy world. Peaceful
and happy is this ashram. No sorrows or troubles can enter here, no shadows
depress," but, when he parted the bushes, and saw Sakuntala, he said to
himself : "Such beauty comes only from the Kingdom of Beauty !"

He approached the maidens, and Sakuntala 's eyes and his met, and the
ardent admiration of the stranger's gaze made the maiden blush and drop her
long-lashed eyelids.

Dushmanta spoke : "I heard my name, and hence I came, and shall be
happy if I can serve you."

"Who are you?" asked Priyambada.

"Why, you mentioned my name !" answered the knight in surprise. "I am

N7iV£ IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 61

SAKUNTALA

Dushmanta Maharaj."

Priyambada and Anushua noticed that his eloquent eyes were absorbed in
Sakuntala's beauty, and that she sat with down-cast eyes and blushing cheeks,
so now they turned to her, and said, mischievously: "Why don't you tell
him?"

Sakuntala raised her head, and said indignantly : "How can you be so
unkind?"

The handsome knight entreated to be told what had vexed the lovely
maiden, and her friends told him how a giant beetle had hummed and buzzed
and flown round Sakuntala.

"Where is the offending insect, that I may slay him?" cried the knight,
and the three girls laughed merrily.

Then the Maharajah seated himself beside them, on the velvety grass, and
helped them with their garlands, but Priyambada and Anushua saw that he
picked out all the choicest flowers for Sakuntala, and that all his prettiest
speeches were for Sakuntala, and that his eyes were fixed on Sakuntala, so,
presently they rose and left the pair together.

The golden sun was sinking, and his rosy rays were tinting alj the world
with evening glory, but Dushmanta thought that the loveliest feature of nature
there was this sweet woodland maid.

Then he spoke to her of love, and asked her to be his, vowing that she
would make him the happiest man on earth, and she should be his Queen, his
only one, the dream, and guiding star of all his days.

Sakuntala answered shyly, "My father is away. When he returns, you
may ask him." But her sweet eyes looked into his, and told Dushmanta all he
longed to know.

They went into the cottage, and Goutami weloomed the king, and he
accepted their hospitality, and stayed beneath their humble roof. Dushmanta
could not tear himself away from Sakuntala's loveliness, and lingered in the
nshram many days, awaiting her father.

But Kanva niooni did not return, and the Maharajah durst not tarry

62 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAKUNTALA

longer, because his kingdom needed him, so he pleaded with the hermits his
love for Sakuntala, and hers for him. At last the hermits and Goutami
consented, and Dushmanta married Sakuntala by Gandharva rites.

It was evening, and Chandra, the Moon, floated majestically in the sky,
and, under his silver brilliance, lovelier grew the forest world, but loveliest
of all was the fair maiden, Sakuntala, who pledged herself to Dushmanta,
kingliest King, and bravest knight.

A bed of flowers was made, and the cottage was adorned with the perfumed
blossoms of the ashrain, and the queen of flowers was Sakuntala. Dushmanta
drew her to his heart and said : "Thou art mine, my dearest; come, let us
talk of love."

The moon smiled in the sky, the flowers bloomed, and the happ}^
husband's heart was filled with joy, as he gazed at his bride, and said : "We
know that love alone has brought us together, and that the world is made of
love, and we shall ever live together in love."

Dushmanta spent a few days with his bride, and they were very happy.
Then he spoke of returning to his kingdom, Hastinagar, to his duties as a king.
Sakuntala's face grew sad and pale, as she asked : "Why must you go? Why
must we part?" and her great black eyes were full of tears, and her pretty
lips quivered.

Dushmanta caught her to his heart, and said :

"My queen beloved, I leave my heart behind. You are my life, my
joy, my second soul, but Duty calls. I am a King, and state and people claim
my care. As soon as I arrive at my capital, I shall send an escort to bring
you home to me, my love. But you are so happy here, ' ' he added, with a smile,
"that I fear you will forget me, and not care to come."

Sakuntala turned to him, in trembling grief, and answered :

"No, no, my King, my lord ! Oh, my heart shrinks from this parting,
for I am but a poor hermit's daughter, and you are the ruler of a great king-
dom, and I fear that, among the cares and distractions of your high estate, you
will forget me.''

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SAKUNTALA

Dushmanta drew her closer to his heart, aud said reproachfully :

"My little wife, am I not here, away from State and Capital because of
3'ou ? I long to see you on my throne, and my people will be proud of you,
their Queen."

Then he told her of all the dazzling grandeur which would gild her life,
and of the rich silks, and pearls and gold and gems, which should frame her
fairness.

But Sakuntala answered sadly : "These matter not, my lord. I want
only you and all your love." And she hid her face upon his breast and wept,
and her tears fell upon his hand, and her beautiful form trembled in his arms.

The King said : "Oh, my naughty little wife, you make our parting too
sad ! How shall I go and leave you thus ? ' '

Sakuntala looked into his eyes and said mournfully : "I never wept
before. There are no partings in our peaceful ashram."

Dushmanta laughed tenderly, and kissed away her tears, and said con-
solingly : "My loved one, our son shall be the Ruler, when you and I are old
and we shall return to this topoban and spend the evening of our lives together,
in happiness and prayer. Now, my wife, my Queen, take this ring."

He placed on Sakuntala 's left hand a ring which bore his name, set in
gems, and said :

"My bride, I place this on your finger. Fear not, do not be sad. As soon
as you have finished reading the letters of this ring, reading one letter a day,
my messengers will be waiting at the door, to escort you to my kingdom, which
will be proud to welcome you as their Queen."

Sakuntala answered softly : "My heart breaks at saying goodbye. lean
only beg of you, my King, my lord, not to forget me." And he kissed her,
again, and left her, with the promise of the escort to fetch her to him.

Several days later, Kanva mooni returned from his pilgrimage, and the
hermit and his sister, Goutami, told him how the Maharajah Dushmanta had
come and spent some time amongst them, and had married Sakuntala by
Gandharva rites. And Kanva rejoiced, and said :

64 mNE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAKUNTALA

"Friends and sister dear, you could have found no better suitor. Sakuntala
is my adopted child, and has bloomed to womanhood in this poor ashram, but
her character is pure and beautiful. As the shining of a star, at dawn, tells
the earth the morn is nigh, even so a woman's truth and purity dispel all
darkness from a man's life, and speak to him of brighter, happier things.
Sakuntala 's virtue is not destined to be hidden in a hermit's hut. Our country
will be enriched by her life. ' ' And all waited in happy anticipation of the escort.

One afternoon, Sakuntala was seated on the verandah of Goutami's hut,
gazing at the ring on her finger, and thinking of her husband, when a mendicant
hermit came and begged for food. So absorbed in thought was Sakuntala,
that she did not hear him, though he asked several times.

The hungry mooni lost his temper, and shouted in a rage :

"Dare you ignore me, in this heartless style? May the one of whom you
are thinking forget j^ou ! ' '

Then he strode angrily away, but, before he reached the garden gate,
Priyambada and Anushua intercepted him and fell at his feet, imploring :

"Oh, Moonibar, kind Sir, pardon her, for she is thinking of one who is
dearer to her than life itself ! ' '

Durbasa, the mooni, replied testily : "I cannot pardon her, because she
took no notice of me, a hungry, thirsty pilgrim. Where is her charity?"

"Kind Sir, good Sir," the girls entreated, "we shall atone; come with
us," and they led him to a shad}' seat and gave him a cooling drink and a
sumptuous meal, and fanned him, and waited on him with devotion. When all
his bodily wants had been supplied, they again implored :

"Revered Sir, great Moonibar, pray, pray, forgive our friend."

Durbasa was now appeased, but spoken words can never be recalled. He
thought awhile, then found a way to mitigate his curse, and said :

"The one she thinks of will remember her, if she has a souvenir."

"Priyambada and Anushua were comforted by these words, for they knew
that the ring on Sakuntala's finger was Dushmanta's parting gift.

Time passed on, but no escort came from Hastinagar, and Sakuntala

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 65

SAKUNTALA

began to droop and grow pale. Kanva mooni and Goutami Devi grew anxious
for their child as the months went by, for Sakuntala was expecting her first
born, and her time of motherhood was drawing near. At length, Kanva
thought it advisable to wait no longer for the promised embassy, so he said to
Sakuntala :

"My child, you are Dushmanta's wife and Queen ! You can go to your
husband without his call."

"Father," Sakuntala replied, "he told me he would send for me. I shall
await his word."

Nearer drew the time of her expectancy, and Kanva again spoke :

"My beloved child, a King's son and heir should be born in his father's
State. I must send you to Hastinagar."

"No, father, no," she entreated, "What would his people think? The
Maharajah has sent no messengers, no escort, how can I go, and wound his
royal dignity ? "

The holy sage's heart was sore for the child of his adoption. He
understood her delicate thought for the King, her husband, but he believed that
cares of State engrossed Dushmanta and that, if Sakuntala could but be
persuaded to go to the court, all would be well. So he answered :

"Dear child, if you do not care to go without a suitable entourage, as the
wife and Queen of Dushmanta, I shall send you as my daughter, a humble
hermit's child."

But Sakuntala 's heart shrank within her, from venturing thus unbidden
into the unknown. All her young life, in the topoban, had been free from care
and sorrow, until these past few months, and now how much she suffered. What
weary hours and days of loneliness ! What disappointed hopes, and cruel
suspense ! Was love like this ? And was this love ? Those golden days of
bliss, when he and she were one, had it ever been, or was it all a dream? Or
were they real, and this separation and waiting some terrible phantasm of her
mind, some awful dream, which would later fade away? And, if all were real
and true, and love must suffer, then why comes love at all ?

66 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAKUNTALA

These were her sad reflections, and, whenever Kanva mooni urged her to
wait no longer, she always answered :

"A few days more, my father, just wait a few more days."

When the time drew nearer and no news came from Dushmanta, Sakuntala
began to think that her father was right, and that her child should be born in
the kingdom of its father, so she consented to go, and a day was fixed for her
departure.

Oh, how sad Sakuntala felt, to leave the peaceful ashram, and how sad the
hermits were, to part with her ! Here, in the topoban, she had been a sweet,
rare flower, but would she bloom in a palace ? If this silence meant more pain,
further suffering for her, what would her life be? And, with a clouded life,
how could she be happy, or help others to be so ?

Despite all the anxious thoughts that ever filled poor Sakuntala 's mind,
she preserved an outward calm, until the day she left the ashram. Then she
could no longer keep back her tears, and wept bitterly at the morning puja.
She tended her loved animals and birds, and bade them, each and all, a fond
farewell. She wandered through the garden, for the last time, and culled its
choicest flowers, and wove them into garlands.

Then the parting hour came, and all the moonis and rishis, with their
families, crowded round Sakuntala, and showered their choicest blessings on
her. Sakuntala touched the feet of the elder ones, and kissed the foreheads
of the children, and thus said goodbye to all. Their hearts were full of grief as
she touched their feet in gentle humility and begged their prayers and blessings.

When Sakuntala came near the door of her cottage, a sandal-wood tree, that
she had planted with her own hands, gave out its delicious perfume, and by it
were Priyambada and Anushua, the dear playmates of all her happy days.
Sakuntala's control gave way, and they held her in their arms and all three
wept together, and Sakuntala sobbed :

"Oh, my friends, my dearest friends, you know not how I love you, how
sad I feel. This ashram has been a heaven of happiness for me, and I go from
here to an unknown Kingdom ; and, why I know not, my heart shrinks and

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SAKUNTALA

faints with dread. Oh, dear friends, Priyambada and Anushua, will you
remember me? I shall never forget either of yon, but shall ever hold your
memory in my heart, and love you both."

With a great effort, she released herself from their sorrowful embrace, and
said in a broken voice : "Take care of Goutami Devi and my dear father."
Then she placed her flower garlands in their hands, and said :

"When evening comes, lay these at the feet of God, for me, and pray for
me, in the arati, for, though I shall be far away, in prayer our spirits may ever
be united."

At the gate of the ashram, she fell at Kanva mooni's feet, to say goodbye,
but her courage failed her and, instead, she wept and said :

"Oh, father, don't leave me, don't let me go ! I cannot bear this parting.
You have been so kind a father to me, I love yoti and my dear aunt so much.
And oh, I feel so frightened, and so sad !"

Kanva lifted her up in his arms. His aged eyes were full of tears, and her
cry cut his soul in twain. He put his hand on her head, and said :

"My child, my poor child, you have lived such a secluded life, no wonder
you feel fearful. I shall come a little way with you."

So he went with her, and, as they walked along, he tried to cheer her, but
the cloud which shadowed Sakuntala's heart could not be dispersed, and he
thought within himself : "This bird of the forest topoban will not be happy
in a gilded cage. This woodland flower will pine and fade within a city's walls.
This gentle deer will start and tremble at the worldly winds of court intrigues
and whisperings."

Aloud, he ever strove to comfort her, but when, for the third time, he tried
to say farewell, and she again implored him not to leave her, he answered :

"Sakuntala, my child, I must now return. The night draws near, and
I must go to my evening prayers."

Then, to his relief, Sakuntala resigned herself to the inevitable, and,
kneeling before him, said, calmly and sadly :

"Father, bless me. I need your blessing more to-day than I ever did.

68 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

Sakontala — His aged eyes -were full of tears and Ji

's soul in hcain.

SAKUNTALA

Forgive me, father, if I have ever been an undutiful child. May your love and
prayers ever follow me."

Kanva answered, through a mist of tears :

"Oh, dear child, there is nothing to forgive. I never thought a child's
affection could be so sweet. I vowed myself a hrahmachari (celibate) and my
cottage hearth was bare and lonely. God sent you, and life took on another
shape. My hermit-cot became a home of bliss, the flowers bloomed, and the
birds sang, because you tended them. You made my home a home indeed, and
the word 'father' fell from your lips like heavenly music. My child, I never
shall forget you, and my affection and prayers shall follow you all through
your life."

"Father," whispered Sakuntala, "I feel so fearful. What will the
Maharajah's palace be like? Everything there will be so new, so different."

"Dear child," the mooni said, and faith was in his voice, "the One above,
who orders all our lives, will watch over you. Be kind to the poor, a mother
to those in servdce, a daughter to the aged, and to your husband be his all.
Never be vexed, impatient or jealous. Even if there are other wives, remember
that he is your husband, your devata (God). Be faithful and loyal to him, even
in the mearest trifle. And, if ever proud thoughts tempt you, remember the
humble topohan, where all your early years were spent."

Once again, the aged saint took Sakuntala 's hands in his and blessed her.
Once more she touched Kanva 's feet, and said goodbye. Then she walked
forward, with her guides, and the mooni watched her figure disappear. And
then lie walked along the river bank and told his beads and prayed for her, and
said to himself : "Is a child's love so sweet as this ? She is not my own, and
yet my affection for her is so strong, and I feel as if this parting has taken
something from my life. What must such sorrow be for those whose children
are their very own ? ' '

Kanva mooni could not bear the thought of the ashram with Sakuntala no
longer there, so he went on a pilgrimage, and was not seen or heard of b}' anyone
for many days.

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SAKUNTALA

Sakuntala, her aunt, Goutami, and two hermits whom she called uncles,
journeyed on foot to the capital of Dushmanta. Their progress was slow, on
account of Sakuntala 's health. They bathed in the river, every morning, ate
their meals by the way-side, and, at night, slept under trees. After a week
they entered the city of Hastinagar. Sakuntala 's nervous depression was great,
and she clung to her aunt.

"My child," said Goutami Devi, "you are not strong, and the long journey
has wearied you. We shall rest, and refresh ourselves, before going to the
durbar/'

"Dear aunt, I want no food, no rest," answered Sakuntala, her bright
eyes and flushed face showing the feverish anxiety of her mind. "Let us see
the end of our journey, and go at once to my lord, the King. I long to see him,
for he alone can give me rest and comfort."

Goutami looked anxiously into the beloved face of her child. Her heart
ached for the girl's suffering, and she thought it would be better to end the long
suspense, so she answered, afEectiouately :

"Loved daughter, you are right, and, as we are close to the palace gates,
we shall see the Maharajah at once."

Sakuntala trembled so, with fatigue and agitation, that her limbs could
barely support her, and Goutami was obliged to assist her. When they reached
the entrance of the durbar, the ushers asked them their business there. The
elder hermit replied :

"We two, mooni and moonipatni, wish to see the King."

The ushers answered :

"If you seek alms, you may have them, but you cannot approach His
Majesty."

"Our business with the Maharajah is urgent," they pleaded. "We come
from Kanva mooni' s ashram."

The ushers consulted together, then replied :

"We know the Maharajah has great respect for Kanva mooni. We shall
inform His Majesty that you are here."

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A page carried the message to the throne, and returned to say that the
Maharajah would see the hermits. The little group slowly approached the
steps of the dais. Sakuntala's long veil concealed her face and figure, and
sheltered her from the wondering gaze of the thousands of eyes that were turned
towards the strangers. She felt their piercing stare, and longed for the
sheltering arms of her husband, but she told herself that the ordeal would be
only for a few minutes, and then would come a life-time of happiness.

Now they were at the foot of the golden throne, and, after a courteous
enquiry after Kanva mooni's health, the Maharajah awaited their request.
The sound of the loved voice had thrilled Sakuntala, and the kind enquiry after
their moonibar re-assured her anxious guardians. The elder hermit said
simply :

"Sire, we have brought your wife from the ashram."

"My wife !" echoed the King, in a tone of genuine surprise. "Whatever
do you mean?"

"Your Majesty," answered the two hermits, "we have brought your
Maharani Sakuntala from her father's ashram."

"My good Sirs," said the King, "are you trying to jest with me ? I have
no Maharani, in any ashram."

"Sire, ' ' answered the elder hermit, and his tone was grave and reproachful,
"your Majesty married our moonibar' s daughter some months ago, while
staying at the ashram."

The King looked at him in amazement and answered :

"Revered Sir, you labour under some delusion. I never stayed at an
ashram, that I remember, nor married any hermit's daughter."

"Your Majesty," entreated the second hermit, "this is a sorry jest. We
have brought your Queen that your son and heir may be born in your capital.
Give her a husband's welcome, and we shall return happily to the topoban."

"Holy Sirs!" exclaimed the King, "I cannot follow what you mean.
For Kanva mooni, I have a deep reverence, but I never stayed in his ashram,
nor married his daughter."

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Dushiiianta's tone was emphatic, and the hermits drew themselves up, in
righteous indignation. This denial was a great insult. Goutami Devi turned
to Sakuntala, and said :

"My child, take the Maharajah's ring from off your finger, and show him
the souvenir that he gave you."

At her words, the courtiers rose, with great curiosity, to see the ring, and
a thrill of expectancy filled the durhar. Sakuntala raised her hand, to draw the
ring from off her finger, but the ring was gone !

For an instant, she stood with both hands raised before her, and swayed
and trembled, the target of those many curious, scornful eyes. Then she drew
her sari off her head and faced the King, a queenly virtuous figure of womanly
dignity, and now, where scorn and curiosity had been, there was admiration.
The curling waves of jet black hair fell round her form in luxuriant profusion,
and her wonderfully beautiful face was raised towards the King. Tears hung
on the silken eye-lashes, but the glorious eyes were opened wide and fixed upon
his face as if she fain would read his heart.

Not the faintest gleam of recognition lighted the face of Dushnianta, who
leaned forward on his throne, and looked wonderingly at her beauty.

"My King, my lord," Sakuntala cried, and all her soul was in her voice,
"is this the welcome you promised me? Is it kingly to deny your plighted
word ? Is pure love despised in your kingdom ? My husband, I gave myself
to you, heart and soul. Is there no mercy in your heart? You are a King,
and have everything the world can give, I am but a poor hermit's daughter."

But her words made no impression on Dushmanta. He answered coldly :
"Madam, who are you? I know you not."

"Oh, my lord, my husband, do you deny me thus, to try me ? Why make
nie suffer so? I want no kingdom, no position, no jewels. I want you, and
you alone. Is a man's heart like iron? Do you forget and disown me? Ye
gods in heaven, if I have been a true wife to this Maharajah, may he soon
remember the past and be sorry for his denial of to-day."

Her piercing accents filled the court, but the effort, and the King's

72 IS! WE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

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persistent non-recognition, were more than she could bear and she fell swooning
to the floor. A loud, rumbling noise was heard, and the palace shook and
rocked with an earthquake. The crown fell off Dushmanta's head, and crashed
to the floor, its precious gems splintering into fragments. Fear and consterna-
tion filled every heart, and the courtiers said to each other : "The gods are
surely angry with our King."

Goutami Devi, weeping pitifullj-, knelt beside Sakuntala's prostrate form,
while the two hermits broke into bitter reproaches, and addressed themselves
indignantly to the Maharajah :

"You have insulted our viooni-deh Kanva ; by denying your marriage with
his daughter. Your repentance for this falsehood will be so great that you will
forsake your throne and become a hermit. Do not forget our words."

Dushmanta had listened in silence to the hermit's upbraidings. No
remembrance of Sakuntala came to him, but his heart was stirred by her beauty
and the earnestness of her voice, and the thought flashed into his mind : "Why
cannot I claim her, as she claims me, for she looks born to be a queen." And
then a second thought came : "But no, they spoke of an expected heir. Some
one has deserted her. Would that I could avenge her."

Goutami Devi and the two hermits helped Sakuntala out of the palace, and
started to return with her to the ashram. But they had not gone far from the
city when they were obliged to halt, for the shock and horror of the Maharajah's
repudiation had completely un-nerved Sakuntala, and her condition was pitiable.
The little party bivouacked under a big tree, and Goutami prepared some food.
Sakuntala felt neither hunger nor thirst, a great weariness possessed her, and,
but for the unborn babe, she would have died of grief. She accepted some fruit,
and struggled to eat it. Goutami Devi watched her, with a sinking heart, and
her anxiety for her loved child increased when Sakuntala, presently, said :

"You three must go back to the topohan."

Goutami forced a smile, and answered :

"And you are coming with us, dear child."

"Oh, no, Devi, I can never show my face there again. I was always

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known as 'happy Sakuntala', in the ashram, and I am not happy now, so I cannot
return there." Then a terrible wave of grief and shame broke upon her heart
and, throwing herself into Goutami's arms, she cried in awful anguish ; "Oh,
aunt, dear aunt, what will everyone say, when they hear that I am deserted by
my husband? Why did he reject me? Oh, my babe, my unborn babe, are
you never to know a father's love?"

Goutami had no words to comfort her. She could but hold her in her
arms, and weep with her.

"Devi," sobbed Sakuntala, "is love always scorned like this in kingdoms ?"

"No, child, no," answered Goutami, through her tears, "some cruel fancy
obsesses the King. Try not to think of your sorrow. Live for your child."

All their persuasions could not induce Sakuntala to accompany her aunt
and the hermits back to the ashram. Goutami and the others wondered what
had become of the ring, and questioned each other how it could have slipped
off Sakuntala's finger, for she cried, saying : "It never left my finger after
he placed it there, as a souvenir. I am forsaken by my husband. Sakuntala
shall never be seen as a deserted wife, in the ashram."

Her fatigue and grief were so extreme that they knew not what to do, so
they decided to spend the night where they were, and see what the morning
would bring forth. They were on the outskirts of the forest, and a storm was
threatening, so they contrived a shelter with branches and grass, and Goutami
and the hermits soon slept, for they were tired and over- wrought.

Sakuntala sat watching the black clouds and vivid flashes of lightning.
The gloomy night seemed a reflection of her own saddened soul, and she could
neither sleep nor rest. She left the sheltering tree, and began to pace backwards
and forwards, now here, now there. The feeble life, pulsing within her,
struck new chords in her heart, and her thoughts wandered to her own mother,
whom she had never seen or known. A passionate longing to feel her mother's
arms about her, and to rest her fevered head upon her breast, possessed her,
and, in a frenzied paroxysm of grief, she cried aloud :

"Mother, mother, hear me, come to me ! Do you love me? I have never

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called you 'mother', never known your love, but now my heart yearns for you.
My heart is breaking, my body aches, my life struggles within me. Mother,
where are you, and where is your love ? Come to me, hold me in your arms.
Come, mother, come!"

Sakuntala's piercing cries awakened Goutami, and the hermits began to
search for her, but just then the storm burst, and all their efforts were in vain,
for, in the darkness and deluge which followed, they lost all trace of Sakuntala.
Late, next day, they sadly and sorrowfully gave up their hopeless quest, and

turned their steps back to the ashram.

Maharajah Dushmanta could not forget the beautiful face of her whom the
hermits had declared to be his wife, and, although he could not understand their
accusation, he felt that he, as a knight, had been guilty of disrespect to a devi,
in allowing the little party to go away unaided. Who could the man be, who
had married such a young and lovely maiden ? Virtue shone from her luminous
black eyes, which had been raised so appealingly to his. Again and again, the
thrilling accents of her voice rang in his ears : "I gave you my love, and all
I had ! ' ' Whatever did it mean ? Who could be the one who had impersonated
him, and used his name ? Would that he had not let them go from his court !
Such were often Dushmanta 's reflections when the voice and eyes of Sakuntala
haunted him. All his chivalrous soul rose up within him in horror, for her
.sorrow, and he could not drive her beauteous face and form from his mind.

One afternoon, not long after his rejection of Sakuntala, two fishermen were
found with a ring that bore the Maharajah's name in precious stones. It was
concluded that they were robbers in disguise, who had stolen the jewel, so they
were arrested and taken to the capital. The court -oflScers recognised the ring
as one the King had always worn, and they carried it to their lord, in durbar.

Dushmanta carelessly took the jewel in his hand and looked at it. Durbasa's
curse was lifted, and memory given back to him ! "Sakuntala, oh, Sakuntala ! "
burst from his lips, in tones of anguished woe. The royal cry resounded
through the durbar, and the courtiers surged around the throne, to learn what
ailed their lord. With the ring in his hand, and great sobs shaking his manly

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frame, he told them all the story of how he had seen and loved the daughter of
Kanva mooni, had married her, and meant to bring her to Hastinagar, to be
his queen.

The fishermen were sent for, and asked where they got the ring, and they
explained that they had been fishing in the Ganga river, (Ramganga, its present
name) and had caught some large fish in their net, and, when they were dividing
them for sale, they found the ring in one of the fish. The King rewarded them,
and then he cried :

"Where are those hermits? and where is that devi? Go, search for her.
She was my Sakuntala, my wife, and I disowned her. Send forth courtiers to
Kanva mooni' s ashram, and find your Queen."

The ministers hastened to obey, for their grief-stricken King strode up
and down the durhar-hall and rent the palace with his lamentations, saying :

"If she is not found, I shall not rule this kingdom. If she is lost, do what
you will with the throne and State. This line of Chandra- Vansa shall end. My
Sakuntala, my bride, my wife, the mother of my child, where are you ? Oh,
Time, stand still, and let me find her. If she is lost and gone, may Kanva
mooni curse me. Eternity, roll back your portals, and let me end this mortal
life. Fall on me, all ye gods, and annihilate me."

Terrible were his grief and remorse. The courtiers returned. Sakuntala
had never again been seen or heard of, in Kanva mooni's topoban. Messengers
were hurried forth, to search the land, and the King knew neither sleep nor
rest. He craved for Sakuntala, and, in his anguish, he called for painters,
and at last found one whose soul leaped up and met the King's.

Together they worked. King and painter. The word-pictures poured from
the King's lips, in heart-wrung accents, of immortal, suffering love, and the
artist caught the inspiration, and the canvas grew to life beneath his brush.
Never before had pictures been painted in India, but, under Dushmanta's
direction, the art of depicting life and beauty sprang into existence. Sakuntala
lived again, upon the canvas, in the sakunta's nest, beside the forest brook,
weaving garlands in the peaceful ashram, pledging herself to the King, in simple

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Gandharva rite. All these were shown, and more, for Dushmanta's one desire
was to vindicate Sakuntala to all the world.

Thus, four years passed away, and never came a word of Sakuntala.
Dushmanta left his kingdom and, taking the beloved pictures, retreated to the
forest and there, in a humble cottage, lived the life of an anchorite, doing
penance for his denial of Sakuntala, and around him were the pictures of her
whom he loved so well and mourned so truly.

One lovely afternoon, when the forest lay hushed in all the promise and
hope of early spring, the hermit-king tended his garden, and, as he dug and
delved, two ladies and a little boy passed by, and he heard the name of Sakuntala.
Dushmanta called the faithful friend, who shared his exile, and said : "Go,
follow them, and question why they speak of Sakuntala. ' ' And he held his heart
until the man returned and said : "The elder lady answered, 'We spoke to
the little boy of his mother, who was reared by sakuntas, and hence her name. ' ' '

Then Dushmanta knew that his long-lost love was found, and he hurried
forth, in pursuit of the trio. But they had gone some distance and he feared
he had missed them, when a strange sight met his eyes. Within a glade a child
gambolled with a tiger-cub and, near by, the fierce tiger-mother snarled and
grinned. Dushmanta saw that the silken, jet-black curls, the laughing eyes, the
dainty grace, the fair and lovely, childish face were all Sakuntala's. His heart
stood still. There was no doubt that this was his son ! He breathed an inward
prayer, then called the child : "Come here, little boy ! " The little lad looked
up and laughed. The tie of blood drew him, and, forsaking his forest friends,
he ran, with out-stretched arms, to Dushmanta. The tigress purred to her cub,
and both disappeared.

Dushmanta held the boy and kissed him, and two ladies came from behind
a sheltering tree. The King, with bated breath, told how he had found the child
playing with the cub, and the fierce mother-animal watching. The ladies
laughed, and answered, unconcerned :

"This little boy fears no animals. His mother was reared by sakuntas
and, like her, he understands all animals and birds, and talks with them."

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"Where is his mother?" asked the King impatiently.

"She lives in a cottage behind those trees," they answered, pointing out a
part of the forest unknown to him. "Oh, she is a great friend of ours," they
cried, "and we love and reverence her, for she is a saint."

They told him of her perfect life, and how she radiated joy and peace on all
who knew her. Dushmanta's heart thrilled at their words, but he dared not
reveal himself. He had found his Sakuntala, but his humility would not let
him claim her. The pure lily-bloom of her life seemed full and complete and
in it was no place for him. He had rejected and disowned her, and this was his
retribution.

When the ladies ceased their eulogies he humbly asked if the child might
sometimes visit him, and the little boy laughed merrily. Next day, he came,
and DushmantH held him in his arms and asked :

"How does your mother kiss you?"

The boy answered : "So," and pouted his sweet red lips, and the King
pressed his, in hungry longing, upon the baby-mouth which Sakuntala 's lips
had sealed in love. Again and again, the child came, and always asked :

"Where did you get these pictures ? They are all my mother ! ' '

"Take me to your mother, will you not ?" said Dushmanta, one day, for his
heart ached for his wife and he longed to lay his head at her feet and plead for
mercy.

The boy said, "Yes, I shall, and mother will be pleased to see you.
Come," and he led his father by his hand to his mother's cottage, little knowing
that it was his own father, and that he had given up his throne, and all he had,
for the mother whom the child spoke of.

Sakuntala had heard of the pictures from her child, and she knew who the
stranger was, and that it was her love which drew him to her. And, when she
saw him coming towards her home, with their son holding his hand, her heart
beat gladly, but she made no sign nor sound, and stood quietly there, watching
him advance.

The little cottage was covered with creepers and all were in bloom, for it

78 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

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was summer-time, and the garden was a mass of loveliness. Sakuntala stood
in the verandah, with flowers all round her, and Dushmanta saw her there, so
lovely, sweet and pure. It seemed like that night, so long ago, when she
placed her hand in his, and they became man and wife, by simple ceremony.
He stood and gazed. She was the same, and yet so different ! A newer, fuller
grace was hers. The maiden brightness all was gone ! Her face was sad, but
oh, how chaste and peaceful. The luminous eyes were mirrors of purity, the
gently-heaving breast a haven of peace and rest. But he was not worthy of
her! He drove her from him! "She is a devi now. I cannot touch her,"
he thought.

He had gained the verandah steps, and Sakuntala came forward to meet
him. He fell at her feet, and cried, brokenly : "Angel-wife, I am not
worthy of your love ! Pity and pardon me !" and his tears bathed her feet.

Sakuntala stooped and raised him from the ground, and the tenderness of
her voice filled his heart with joy. She touched his feet, and said :

"My husband, do not kneel to me, do not touch my feet. You are my
King and lord. I gave you myself, and I am yours for ever, but a poor
hermit's daughter could not be Queen of a kingdom. Now I know and
understand. Forgive the words I spoke."

She drew him to a rustic seat, and, falling on her knees before him, she
paid her wifely homage, worshipping him as a god, and murmuring, joyfully :
"My husband, my dcvata \"

"My love, my love," cried Dushmanta, "unsay those words. My punish-
ment has been almost greater than I could bear. Only the faint hope of again
meeting you kept me alive. Even now, I cannot understand how it was I did
not remember you. I have suffered bitterly, these last four years. You had
our boy, Sakuntala, but I was alone ! Forgive me, my wife, and come with me to
Hastinagar, and be my Queen."

But Sakuntala begged him to allow her to live her forest-life, as a mooni's
daaighter. She said :

"I am ever yours, my husband, and whatever is your wish is my law. But

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SAKUNTALA

I am only a mooni's daughter, and I feel that the grandeur of a palace is not
meant for me. Let us live in a peaceful topoban/'

He agreed to this, but pleaded :

"Come with me, just for a short time, m}- wife, to show my subjects how
nmch I love you, to vindicate my honour, and afterwards we shall retire to an
ashram/^

She consented, and it seemed to Dushmanta as if the heavens had opened for
him and he gazed into the heart of happiness. When Sakuntala sat by
Dushmanta, he lovingly took her left hand in his, and placed the ring on the third
finger, once more, and said :

"Sakuntala, my beautiful, patient and good Sakuntala, this ring has tried
your love and virtue, this ring put me into the depths of suffering, but,
Sakuntala, this ring has united us again to-day, so take it back. What was
3'ours, is yours again, and will always be yours."

And Dushmanta told her the story of the ring, and how it had been found.
Then, they journeyed to Hastinagar, and the people rejoiced to see their King
again, and, by his side, his lovely, sainth' Queen and the beautiful little Prince.

For a few years, Dushmanta reigned again, and Maharani Sakuntala was
loved by all his subjects. She brought pure and unselfish love as the most
priceless jewel to her husband's court, and she gave generously of her love to
all his people.

Enthroned b}' his side, she reigned in Hastinagar by the m3'stic right of
love and virtue, the greatest Queen India has ever seen. The sweet refinement
of her saintly life, her gentle, kindly words, made themselves felt throughout
the kingdom. Hastinagar benefited by her sway. The rare flower of the
topoban, perfected by suffering and sorrow, scattered its fragrance all over India,
and its perfume has spread over the world and will last for all eternity.

Dushmanta worshipped his wife. "I found a shy, woodland maid, " he said,
"and married her, and she is my angel-wife."

When Bharat, their son, was old enough, Dushmanta placed him on the
throne, and returned to the ashram, with Sakuntala, to lead a simple life, till

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God called them away from the earth.

Bharat became a great King, and reigned as Emperor on the throne of
Prayag, and all the country was called, after him, Bharat- Varsha (Bharat's
Land). But Sakuntala's son is remembered more for his holiness than for his
greatness, for his piety was remarkable. To this da}-, there is a place near
Hardwar, on the Ganges, called Bharat-Ashraw, which is revered because
Bharat, the King, son of Sakuntala and Dushmanta, retired there, after he had
said farewell to the world, and there spent many 5^ears in meditation, to meet his
God and Maker.

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SAVITRI

SAVITBl

Savitri was a princess who lived many hundreds of years ago. Her name
has its place in the golden legends of ideals of Hindu women. Even now, the
very name fills Hindu hearts with the remembrance of a love which was so
pure and strong that it conquered the King of Death.

Savitri was the only child of the Maharajah Ashwapati of Abanti. He and
his Queen had been married for many years. Though they were happy, a grief
of their lives was that they had no son. Often Ashwapati besought the gods,
with tears and prayers, to send him an heir. Once, as he prayed thus before
the God of Fire, the goddess Savitri was seen standing in the heart of the
flames. Knowing what the Maharajah's prayer was for, she granted him his
wish, and told him he would have a daughter, who would bring joy and glory
to his kingdom and to him.

The Maharani of Abanti gave birth to a little daughter, after ten months
of the horn (sacred fire). She was named Savitri after the goddess. The
little Princess grew to be a very lovely maiden, tenderly cherished by her
parents, and the hope of the people of Abanti.

In those far-off days, Indian ladies were not kept in seclusion, and many
of them were highly educated and accomplished. Savitri would one day
succeed her father, so Ashwapati Maharajah supervised her education himself,
not only that she might hold her own with the most cultured in the land, but
also that she might learn to administer the kingdom for the welfare and advance-
ment of its subjects. It was a pretty sight to see the young Princess listening
seriously to the learned professors and sages who aided in her education.

The Maharani chose several girls, of noble family, to be her child's
constant companions and Princess Savitri 's days were happy, and her life
flowed on like a gentle stream of joy.

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The Princess sometimes accompanied her parents, when they visited
topobans or ashrams, far and near. In the forest, in those long-ago days, moonis
and rishis lived in community, and the holiness of their lives attracted kings,
princesses and noble ladies, who came to such hermitages to lead awhile
a simple life.

Savitri was enchanted with the peaceful retreat. The earnestness of the
daily life there, the chanting of the saints, the atmosphere of prayer and peace,
all enraptured her.

On one occasion, the young Princess went with her girl friends to a iopoban.
It was at the foot of the Himalayas. The maidens wandered freely in the
beautiful forest, which surrounded the hermitage, gathering flowers and fruits,
and making the old trees feel young, with their fresh voices and silvery
laughter. The birds twittered with glee to see the merry girls, and the little
squirrels played hide-and-seek with them in the long grass.

One late afternoon, when the sun had finished his day's work, and
was on the point of saying goodbye to the topoban, Savitri, tired of wandering,
sat alone on the bank of a clear and shallow stream, making jasmine flowers
into a garland for her evening puja. As she worked, her eyes watched the
lengthening shadows on the opposite bank. Presently, she noticed the figure
of a man, emerging from the deeper forest. As he came further into the sun-
light, she discerned a handsome youth, dressed like a hermit, in a garooah
coloured dhoti, and carrying a sheaf of wheat on his shoulder.

The grace and dignity of his bearing struck Savitri 's eyes, and she
continued to observe him as he walked forward to the path which ran along the
bank. And, as she sat there, unconsciously watching him, he became aware
of her presence and looked towards her. The }^oung man slowly stepped down
the bank, and their eyes met. He saw a vision of perfect beauty, and she saw
the depth of his love. And, as eyes gazed into eyes across the narrow stream
their souls, predestined from all eternity to complete each other, awakened.

The thick forest lay silent around them, as if it held the moment too precious
and sacred for sound. Even the wind held its breath, as the two souls spoke

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SA VITRI

to each other in silence. Then Savitri veiled her eyes, with their black-fringed
lids, and the first blushes of love heightened her wondrous charm. When the

youth sighed a dedp breath of happiness, the birds in the forest trilled with
jov. It seemed as if all nature rejoiced with them. The sun smiled a brighter
ray, the doves cooed and a rippling breeze stirred the forest and stream, scatter-
ing the fragrance of bael-blossoms. Savitri trembled like a lotus in a wind-
swept lake and bent forward to hide her blushing face, and, as she did so,
a garland of delicate, snow-white jasmine dropped from her hand, into the
water, and was borne across by the gentle breeze. The youth smiled, as he
watched the floating flowers. They seemed to him a token of love and trust,
as they came over the crystal-clear stream. When they reached his side of the
brook, leaning downwards he reverently lifted the fragile blossoms from the
water, and held them, for an instant, to his forehead. Their fragrance and
purity seemed but a reflection of the stainless soul of her to whom he now
silently vowed his manhood, and he breathed a prayer that he might be worthy
of her. Then, rising, he clasped his hands, in homage to the love-thrilled,
trembling girl on the opposite bank, and disappeared along the path, carrying
away with him Savitri 's snow-white flowers.

The Princess sat on dreaming, and knowing not that she dreamed.
A little bird perched on her shoulder and peeped at the blushing face, and
flew up to tell the trees that Prince Charming had come, and stolen the maiden's
heart. The bulbuls danced gaily from branch to branch, and sang a wonderful
new song of love. The old peepul tree, under whose shade she had rested,
to make her garland, whispered to Vishnu of the maiden who dreamed of lov^e.
Then the gentle breeze roused her, with a fluttering of her silken sari, and
Savitri finished her garland and went to make her evening offering to
her god.

A few days later, the Princess and her companions discovered a little hut
in the topoban, where a blind old man lived with his wife. The royal maiden
was full of sympathy for the aged pair. They told her that their son, Satyaban,
was devoted to them, and worked hard to support them, and was the comfort

84 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAVITRI

of their lives. While the girls were thus talking, there came Satyabaii, with
some wood from the forest, and Savitri recognized her knight of the stream,
and he, his lady of the fragrant jasmine flowers.

Shy and frequent were the glances which Savitri and Satyaban cast at each
other, and the sharp eyes of the Princess's companions noticed their bashfulness
and soon discovered that love had conquered both. And, as they returned to
their own dwelling, the girls congratulated Savitri on her woodland hero.

The maidens, who listened to it with great interest, heard from the other
hermits the history of the late ruler of Abanti. The noble appearance of
Satyaban and his parents spoke of their high birth. The girls were much, and
pleasantly, surprised to learn that the old man was the exiled King of Abani
and his son, the Crown Prince. Satyaban met several times, before the
Princess's return to Abanti, and each meeting increased the attraction they felt
for each other.

Now, when the maidens reached home, they told the Maharani about the
blind and exiled King and his son, and Sa\-itri's blushes soon showed the mother
that her child's future was in peril. So she confided her suspicions to her
husband, and begged him to hasten the syanibara and to invite Prince Satyaban
to it. The Maharajah heard his wife with dismay. Hp had determined a great
alliance for Savitri, and his pride rebelled against her choice of a penniless and
unfotunate King's son.

"No, no, " he replied, in answer to the Maharani 's entreaties not to sacrifice
their daughter for wealth, "Savitri is my heiress. She will, one day, sit on the
throne of Abanti. Her husband must be no exiled beggar."

The parents now looked anxious and sad, for Savitri worshipped them and
knew that this marriage would not please them, but her heart was no longer her
own and she knew that, loving Satyaban as she did, she could riever marry
another. And the Maharajah lo\ed his daughter so well that he dreaded to
force her obedience.

A few days later, Narad came on a visit to Abanti. He was an old friend of
the Maharajah and had known Savitri from her childhood. So Ashwapati

iV/iV£ IDExlL [NDIA.X WOMEN 85

SAVITRS

thought, "Surely this mooni can help us in our trouble," and he opened out
his heart of perplexity and all his doubts and disappointments.

"Satyaban is really of royal blood," answered Narad. "His father is the
rightful King of Abani, but, from the day he ascended the throne, he was
surrounded b}' enemies and intrigues. Then he became blind, and his younger
brother drove him from the throne and the State. Satyaban accompanied his
parents into exile, and is a fine, noble youth."

"Then you see no objection to him, as a suitor for my daughter?" asked
Ashwapati Maharajah.

Narad remained silent for a while, apparently in deep thought, and then
slowly replied : "You could not find a better suitor, but ."

The saint hesitated, and the old Maharajah begged him to tell him all.
Then sadly Narad spoke, "The one and only thing against him is that he is
destined to die in a year's time."

King Ashwapati heard the dreadful revelation with horror. The saint's
assurances as to Satyaban 's royal lineage and virtues had softened the
Maharajah's heart, but now came this crushing news. He could not consent
to marrying Savitri to a prince so doomed, and he himself felt unable to impart
the dreadful knowledge to Savitri, and begged the saint to plead with her
once more.

A page was despatched to the antapur, asking Savitri to come to the durbar.
The Princess came, clad in a delicately -tinted gold-embroidered sari, and the
sheen of the silk was soft which draped her fair body to perfection. Rubies and
emeralds encircled her graceful neck and clung around her slender wrists, as if
they loved to warm their lustre against her velvet skin.

Her beauty struck a new chord of her father's heart as she entered the
durbar. Her sweet face looked somewhat pensive and the eyes held a shadow
in their depths, as if, already, the sadness of life had touched her. She
reverently did homage, to the King first and afterwards to his guest, and the
Maharajah said tenderly : "Sit near me, my child, Moonibar has something
to tell you. '-

86 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAVITRl

The Princess seated herself, as bidden, and turned enquiringly to the saint.
Narad hesitated. How could he weigh down this lovely soul with such cruel
news? "How can I tell her and make her miserable?" he thought. But he
must do his duty to the father, so he began iSlowly :

"Rajkumari, the Maharajah, your father, has been speaking to me of
Prince Satyaban."

Savitri's cheeks flushed, and a soft light came into her dark eyes, but she
spoke no word, only modestly bent her head and listened attentively, while
Narad continued :

"No better choice could there be, but it is written that the Prince will not
live longer than a year. If you marry him, you will be a widow after a year. "

The saint paused, waiting for an answer, but she gave none, and now her
head was bent so low that neither the Maharajah nor the mooni could see her
face. They waited a few minutes, and then Maharajah Ashwapati signed to
Narad to continue.

"My child," and the saint bent tenderly towards her and his kind voice
was low, "dear Princess, whom. I have held on my knee as a child, listen to me !
Your father loves you, you are the jewel of his heart and he cannot bear to think
that you should marry one who, in a little, short year, will leave you a widow.
Child, it is the great Law who orders all things, and, for some unknown reason,
has permitted your heart to be attracted to Satyaban, but, now that you know
the fate that over-shadows this Prince, you will remember your own high
destiny and forget him."

At this advice, Savitri raised her head, and they could see the tears
gathering in her eyes, like dew in the heart of a lotus. She answered gently,
but in a voice deep with emotion, as if the words came from the most sacred and
innermost recesses of her heart :

"I can never forget him, for I love him better than life itself. Woman's
destiny is to love and serve him who is her heart's lord. The exiled Prince of
Abani is mine, and I shall be faithful to him for ever. "

"Savitri, Savitri, " pleaded her father, "you are my heiress. If you marry

l^INE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 87

SAVITRI

this unfortunate Prince, and are widowed so soon, what will become of my
ancient name and my kingdom ? You know that he whom you marry will be
to me as a son, and your marriage will give an heir to my throne. Oh, child,
do not disappoint me. Be kind to your parents, sacrifice your wishes, for the
good of my people."

"Father," she cried, and the earnestness of her voice thrilled the two
listeners, "were it my wishes only, I would gladly yield them all to make you,
my beloved Sire, and the people of Abanti happy. I love the exiled Prince with
all my heart and soul. Our souls have met, and in spirit I am his. He, and
he alone, can be the master of my life, the lord of my heart. Forgive me,
loved and kind father, I can marry no other."

The sweet voice ceased, and she bowed her head and veiled her blushing
face beneath her gold-edged sari.

"Moonibar, speak again to my child," begged the Maharajah. "Plead
with her ! I do not wish her to marry one who is doomed to an earlj^ death. ' '

"Dear Princess," began the saint affectionately, but there was a ring of
reluctance in his voice, for Savitri's fervent avowal of love had touched his heart,
"remember your father's declining years. Remember, you are his only child."

"Great Rishi, revered Sir," answered the Princess, sinking on her knees
before them and clasping her hands, "Oh, kind King, and best of fathers, hear
me once more ! A year's happiness with Satyaban will be everlasting happiness
to me. A good woman must be true to her love. He is mine, soul of my soul,
sun of my life. Please, father, be kind. Do not ask me to forget him. Do not
forbid me to marry him."

The slender form trembled and swayed, with the strength of her appeal and
her father sighed heavily.

Narad replied : "Child, child, reflect ; what is one short year of happiness
against a long life of widowhood ?"

"Ah, Dev !" and the Princess"s heart was in her voice, "the year may be
short, but the happiness will be heavenly to me, and its memory will live for
ever ! And, if it is written for me to be a widow, I shall be one, no matter whom

88 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAVITRI

I marry. Great Rishi," and her voice was impelling in its sweetness and
pleading, "bless me, that I may prove a virtuous woman. Bless me, and console
my father."

Narad was conquered. The sweet face, the tearful eyes, the earnest,
thrilling voice, had touched his heart. Turning to the King, he said : "My
fiiend, love like hers is heaven-sent and sacred. Let the Princess marry
Satyaban." Then, blessing the kneeling Savitri, Narad left her and her
father together.

The Queen heard with joy that Savitri was to be allowed to follow her own
choice and soon Abanti was preparing for the marriage of its loved Princess.
The Gurus (priests) and the wise men were consulted by the high officials and
relatives, and they fixed the most auspicious of all auspicious hours, 3 o'clock
in the morning, as the time for the nuptials. The marriage was celebrated with
great splendour, and, at the festival which followed, the nobles and courtiers
of Abanti were charmed with the gracious personality of the Prince. "Surely,"
they thought, "still happier fortune will be ours, when Princess Savitri sits on
the throne of her ancestors, with such a noble lord as her consort."

But these bright hopes were all dispelled when, the wedding festivities
ended. Prince Sat3-aban came to take leave of his parents-in-law, before
returning to the topoban.

"No, no," said the Maharajah of Abanti. "You must not think of leaving
us. Savitri is my heiress, and I regard you as a son. All I have will be hers
and yours some day, and meantime you will live here and be happy."

"Most noble Sir," the Prince replied, in affectionate and respectful tones,
reverently paying homage to his father-in-law, "your generosity does justice
to your kind heart. But I, too, ha\-e a father. He is blind, and I am the only
support and comfort of him and my mother in their exile. As long as God
grants me life, I must prove myself a w-orthy son."

Maharajah Ashwapati sadly consented. But his heart grew sadder still,
when Savitri knelt at his feet and asked leave to accompany her husband. The
Maharajah recognized the greatness of her unselfishness and her love for her

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 89

SAVITRI

husband, and did not attempt to detain her. He blessed her tenderly, and said :

"Go, my child, I shall not ask you not to follow your husband, but I wish
you to choose, and take with you, all you care for which will make your new
home comfortable."

The Prince, with clasped hands, once again did reverence at the King's
feet, and said :

"Most kind Sir, revered King, forgive me! Now that Savitri is a poor
man's wife, what would she do with grand presents ? The luxuries of this
palace would be out of place in my father's hut, and we live the life of humble
hermits."

And Savitri added : "All I want to take with me, beloved father, is your
blessing and your affection."

Ashwapati's heart was filled with joy and pride to hear it, and he blessed
them, with tearful eyes.

Savitri bade her mother a loving farewell, and, dressed in a garooah
coloured sari, with her luxuriant tresses her only ornament, she walked from
the Palace of Abanti to the topoban.

The radiance of her love-lit face caught all eyes, and ministers, courtiers
and nobles bowed low before her as she passed.

"This is love, pure love," they cried. "She has forsaken all for his sake,
and her face and eyes are shining with joy, as with a light from heaven. Born
in princely splendour, and surrounded by every luxury, guarded from care, like
a pearl of price, yet she goes forth bare-footed, and clad in garooah, to live an
humble life in a fo/?oban."

But Savitri passed on, unconscious of exery thing, save that he whom she
loved, and who was now her life-companion, walked beside her. At the door
of the humble hut, the blind King of Abani and his wife waited to welcome the
newly-wedded pair. Savitri and Satyaban knelt at their feet and asked for a
blessing. From the first moment of her arrival, Savitri took her place as the
daughter of a poor family, and cooked, as if she had never known the splendour
and luxury of a palace.

90 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

Savitei — But, SavUri passed on unconscious of everything save that he whom

she lovrr' .--.■' --• ■ - - i;,i:<' lirr li>-' ' " ■>iion 'aalkcd ' '' ' rr.

SAVITRI

Everyone in the topoban loved her. She respected the aged hermits and
addressed their wives in endearing terms, calling some "aunt" and others
'^didi" (elder sister). Many a silent act of charity was rendered by her to the
weary and feeble around her. The children adored her, and she found time, in
her busy life, to weave garlands and play games with them. Satyaban worked
hard to support the little family, and, when he returned to the meagre hut,
Savitri was always ready to welcome him with smiles and words of love.

Thus, some golden months passed by, till the dawn of the fatal day on which
Death would claim the fine, young Prince. Savitri hid the knowledge in her
heart, determined that, if love could conquer the most powerful of all Kings, her
love should.

Often, their poverty was so great that the food supplies would be exhausted
before more could be procured. On the morning of the dreaded day, Savitri
heard her mother-in-law tell Sat3'aban that they had no fruit, — and nothing left
for another meal.

He answered cheerfully : "There is a load of wood to deliver. I shall go
into the forest and cut it, and then I shall buy some rice and vegetables."

Savitri stayed her work and, coming towards them, asked : "May I go
with you, my husband?"

He turned to her, his fine eyes alight with pleasure, and Savitri thought
he looked nobler and more loving than ever. She longed to fall at his feet and
worship him, and she wished she could fly away with him to some distant world,
where Death and his cruel clutches were unknown. And, as the young couple
drank from each other's eyes the bliss of love, the exiled Queen answered for
her son :

"Oh, no, Savitri, you cannot go ! He may perhaps be late coming home. "

But Savitri answered : "Mother, we shall get extra wood, and the load
will be heavy. I can help him carry it, and then he will get back earlier."

"Why so anxious to come with me?" asked Satyaban lovingly. "The
forest is silent and cold, and the way is weary."

"I want to be with you, to help you, to brighten your day," she answered,,.

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 91.

SAVITRI

eagerly. "Mother, please say that I may go. Prince and lord, let me
accompany you."

They yielded to her ardent entreaties, the mother smiling and telling the
blind King of their love.

So the happy pair, after paying homage to the old King and Queen, stepped
out of the hut and took the foot-path leading to the dense forest, and, as they
walked on together they talked as lovers talk, and then wandered to gather
flowers and fruit. The afternoon was well advanced before they gained the
heart of the forest, and Satyaban said he must now work hard, to make up for
lost time.

Both of them worked hard, Satyaban cutting the wood and Savitri
gathering it together and making two large bundles.

Sat\'aban said : "Let us take home a big load to-day, Savitri. I could
surely never have got so much, had you not been with me, and I forget the
hardship of the work, when you are near me, my wife. I wish for no kingdom
or throne without you. This thick forest is like Paradise to me. "

They spoke many loving words, but Savitri, glancing at the setting sun,
murmured : "It will soon get dark, ' ' and trembled with foreboding. Satyaban
had climbed a very high and thick tree, and was cutting off the dry branches,
while Savitri gathered them together as they fell. They had worked in silence
for a little while, when Satyaban called out :

"Savitri, I am so giddy, I can see nothing."

An iron band seemed to press round Savitri's heart. She knew that the
dreaded moment had arrived. But, stilling her fears, she called to him, in her
usual sweet and cheerful voice, to descend the tree, and as he scrambled
unsteadily down, she watched him anxiously, lest he should fall. Then, she
helped him to the ground, and he lay with his head upon her knee, moaning
piteously. Savitri took his hands in hers, and fanned his brow with her sari,
but she felt the coldness of death passing through his frame, and his glazed eyes
no longer knew her. Each laboured breath pierced her soul with agony, and,
when he breathed his last, she knew she could not live without him.

92 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAVITRI

She sat quietly, still nursing the beloved body, and caring nothing for the
night which was fast closing in. The blackness of the darkening forest soon
enveloped her, and the air was rent with the cries of wild beasts seeking their
prey. Their keen scent drew them to her and her precious burden, but she did
not heed them. And the forest animals understood not the strange stillness of
her of the shining e3^es, and fled from her.

The night wore on, and the forest lay hushed in silence, grieving with
Savitri in her heart-breaking sorrow. The leaves wept tears of dew upon her,
and the wind moaned low, in anguish with her. It was a dark night, and, as
Savitri sat there and wept, a figure came silently towards her, and she raised
her head and saw a gigantic, kingly form. Rays of light emanated from the
wondrous jewelled crown upon his head, and she saw that his rich robes were of
bright red, here flaming crimson like the tongues of funeral fires, and there
deepening into velvet-black. He carried a great golden danda (stick) in his
hand, and behind him came a scribe and many slaves.

Savitri gazed at him, but he stood silent some distant from her. Then
she asked : "Who are you, and what do you want of me?"

"Devi," (saint) he answered, and his voice seemed to thrill the forest.
The wind wailed among the trees. The owls hooted, and other night-birds
cried uneasily. "Devi, I am Yom, Lord of Death, and I come to claim your
husband's body, for he is dead."

"Yom, great King of Death," said Savitri, and the forest held its breath,
and the night-birds ceased their cries, to listen to her answer, "will you not be
kind, and give my husband back to me ? You surely would not leave me in
this dark forest alone, without my husband ?"

The dread King answered in a voice of awful majesty : "I must obey the
great Law ! Else would I grant your request."

But Savitri was not to be denied. "O Great King, he is the only one I live
for, and he is all the world to me ! Do not take him from me, surely you cannot
be so cruel and relentless."

The Lord of Death heeded not her tears. He drew nearer, and said :

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 93

SAVITRI

"Be kind, and allow me to take him. Do not call me cruel, for I am the
servant of God, and am here only to obey m}' Master. You would not have me
disobey' the great Law. "

Then Savitri answered calmly : "No, no. Death, you must obey your
Master. Take him, take all that I have in the world." And the forest wondered
at her resignation.

But Yom, King of Terrors, could not approach, and he spoke again:

"Devi, you are too good, too pure, for Death to touch. Will you lift your
husband's head, and lay it on the ground ?"

Savitri lifted the beloved head, and laid it on the hard, cold earth. The
wind swept through the trees with a long, wailing note, and the rustling leaves
showered heavy tears of dew upon the lifeless form of Satyaban and the bowed
head of Savitri. She was calm and quiet.

"Take him, O Death ! " she cried. ' 'Take him wherever you wish. Take
Savitri 's love, Savitri 's life, her all."

Now Yom drew near, and his followers came quickly forward and wrapped
the young Prince in a winding-sheet, and carried him away. Savitri rose to her
feet, and, leaving the dew-weeping forest to mourn her love, silently followed.
Presently, Death heard her soft footsteps behind him and, turning round, he
discovered that she was coming after him.

"Devi, why do you follow me?" he asked.

"How can I stay here?" she said. "You have taken what is more than
life to me. If I were to remain in the world, now, my life would be a living
death. I refuse to be a widow. I shall ever follow you."

The Lord of Death was perturbed. He could not take the living to the
realms of those who have vanished from earthly life. He thought he must,
somehow, persuade her to let him carry away the body of her husband, and he
enquired if she had any wish that he could gratify.

"O King!" she answered eagerly, "give back to my father-in-law his
long-lost sight."

Yom joyfully promised that her wish would be granted, then turned and

94 NmE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SAVITRI

resumed his journey with Satyaban's body. After a while, he again heard
footsteps and, turning round once more, found Savitri still following him.

"Why are you still here?" he asked. "I can grant }'ou any wish, except
that your husband may be given back to you."

"Oh, King of Death," replied Savitri, "if you are so kind as that, I wish
to ask you something more." Death inclined his head to hear. "My father
has no heir, let him have a son."

"It is granted," and once more he continued his journey.

But still, Savitri followed. Yom was on the point of going to the next
world, when he turned and asked : "Devi, wh}- do you still follow me?"

"Oh, Death, kind Death," she answered, "you have given me nothing.
You have taken all that I had, and you are leaving nothing for me."

' ' What do you want for yourself ? ' ' Yom asked , troubled by her persistence,
for they were nearing the confines of the Land of Shades, and no living foot had
ever crossed there. "Ask something for yourself, and I shall give it to you."

"Great King, oh. Death, I would like some sons."

"You shall have them," Yom answered gladly and hurried forward.

But the pattering footsteps still followed, and now they were at the edge of
the living world. King Death turned, and in a firm voice addressed her :

"I am surprised at you, Devi. I have granted you three wishes, and yet
you persist in following me."

"Oh, Great Yom, kind and generous King," she answered reproachfully,
"what will people say of me, what will the world say, if I, a widow, have a son ?
Kind King, think of my religion, think of woman's virtue. Take me, also,
then, and put an end to my misery."

Yom opened wide his eyes and looked amazed. He realized, then, what he
had granted, and he was conquered. Kneeling there, on the confines of the
other world, he paid homage to her, and cried :

"Devi, your love for your husband is stronger than Death. You have
conquered me. For ever shall the story of your love be told in this world, and
your name shall be handed down through the generations and revered, for your

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 95

SAVITRI

ideal wifely love. Take back your husband's body. He shall live again and
you will never be a widow."

Savitri had no words to thank the King of Death, who for her had held no
terror. Yom's followers carried the Prince back to the forest, and laid him
down on the soft grass, beneath the old tree where they had found him.

The dawn was breaking in the eastern sky, when Satyaban opened his eyes,
and lovingly exclaimed : "Savitri, have we been here all night?"

"My lord," she sweetly replied, "you were too tired to go home, so we spent
the night here. Are j'ou quite refreshed now ?"

"Dear one," he answered tenderly, "I feel quite well again, and must make
haste and gather the wood."

He climbed the tree again, and they worked gaily together, and then
journeyed home to the little hut in the topoban. When they arrived there,
Dummatsen, the King of Abani, met them near the temple. His sight had
been miraculously restored, and, when he saw Savitri, he rejoiced to find her as
beautiful as she was good.

Soon afterwards, the exiled Maharajah succeeded in recovering his kingdom,
and Satyaban and Savitri took their rightful position as Crown Prince and
Crown Princess of Abani.

Last of all, Savitri heard that an heir had been born to her father's house.
Thus all were happy, and Savitri 's name lives in the land, and Indian ladies
revere her memory as the Ideal Wife, whose wonderful love overcame Death and
called back her husband from the shaded Land of Departed Souls. Savitri
never became a widow, and there is now a vow, called Savitri-brata, which
Hindu wives often make, and they believe that, if they keep it faithfully, they
will never be widowed.

96 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SHAIBYA

SHAIBYA

The Palace of Amaravati (the present Kashmir) gleamed with thousands of
tiny lights, cunningly placed among floral wreaths and flags. The scent of
champa, jasmine and sandal filled the air, and strains of joyful music welcomed
every guest. Chandra, the Lord of Night, hung in the sky like a great silver
ball, and myriads of stars came hastening to their places, to watch the splendid
festival of the Dev-Raj (King of Gods) Indra.

In the centre of the great outer courtyard of the Palace, beneath a rich
canopy of crimson and gold, sparkling with sunstones, stood the throne of Indra,
and, flanking it on each side, were the thrones and seats of the guests, each
adorned with the symbols of the occupant's rank. Courtiers, attendants and
men-at-arms stood grouped behind, and in front of all was spread an immense
dark green carpet, bordered with gold.

When all were assembled, the gates of the Palace were closed and the
entertainment began. Sweet music ravished every ear, and, presently, the
curtain behind the carpet w-as raised, and there floated forward forms and faces
of rare loveliness. Like flowers swayed by the summer's breeze, the dancers
bent, now here, now there, then straightened their slender figures and circled in
bewildering grace before the happy guests. Sight and sound seemed blended
into one harmonious whole, and the enraptured faces of the vast assembly
expressed their pleasure. Never was entertainment like this, and Sachi, Queen
of Hea-ven, turned to her beloved Dev-Indra, with her face flushed with joy, to
tell him how proud she was to have such an assembh-, which was due to her lord,
when there came a wail of discord. Esraj, bina and kartal and many other
instruments, seemed to ignore each other, and the ears of the listeners were now
pierced with an inharmonious medley, which filled the Court. Then came a
terrible crash and silence. The moon and stars were hidden . The countenances

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 97

SHAIBYA

of the guests were now scornful and derisive, while Indra's brow grew black as
the rain-clouds with which he deluges the earth, and he called aloud, in
thundering tones :

"Let those who have marred this festival leave Heaven immediately and
descend in exile to earth."

All the devas, who were playing on their different instruments, stood up in
a great rage, threw their instruments away, and said : "Curses be on those
who have disturbed us at such a pleasant and joyful durbar/'

One by one the devas were leaving, when the trembling figures of five fairy
maidens fluttered forward and prostrated themselves at Indra's throne, their
faces white as the snow on Kailash peaks. Queen Sachi and her guests gazed
at them with pitying eyes, but Indra asked severely :

"Are you the cursed ones who spoiled the music of my Court ?"

"Majesty of Heaven!" they cried in heart-rending tones, "we are. We
danced out of time and bewildered the musicians, but oh, great Bajra-Pani,
punish us not so severely.- Banish us not to earth, where sickness and sorrow
and miseries are known. Punish us here, as thou wilt, loved Deb-Raj, but oh,
send us not to earth ! "

The King of Gods was touched as he listened to their prayer, and his gentle
wife, Sachi, let her hand rest on his an instant, as if she would turn away his
wrath, and when he spoke again his voice had lost its thunder.

"I am sorry for you, my fairies, very sorry. But I cannot recall my words.
Though I am Dev-Indra, Lord of Heaven, I cannot unsay the spoken word."

A wail of anguish came from the kneeling fairies, and a sigh of sympathy
sounded through the court. Indra spoke again, and his voice was now gentle
as the breezes of Vasanta (Spring) which bring hope and promise of fresh life.

"Go to earth you must, ' ' he said . ' ' But I can mitigate my sentence. If ever,
there, you meet the Maharajah Harischandra of Kosulla, you will come back to
Heaven. For he is a pious man, and his presence will release you from the curse.
Now go, descend to earth, straight to the topoban of Bishwamitra. Its scenery is
beautiful and will remind you of Amaravati and console you in your exile."

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The fairies bowed their heads, in sorrowing resignation, and, prostrating
themselves before the throne of Indra, touched his feet, and his Queen's, in
mute farewell, and disappeared from the durbar.

As they descended to earth, each tried to comfort the other : "We shall
live in a topohan. Mortals say they find Hea\-en in these forest retreats."

The fairies found the topoban empty, for Bishwamitra was away on one
of his long absences. This hermitage was at the foot of the Himalayas and the
scenerA' was exquisite, and peace reigned over the mountains and streams.
The girls wandered unmolested in the forest, for no fierce animals came within
the topoban. They bathed in its limpid streams and culled the lovely flowers
and made them into ornaments, with which to adorn themselves. They sang
to one another the melodies of Indra 's court, and the birds, who had always
warbled so sweetly in Bishwamitra 's garden, hushed their notes to listen.
Then, enraptured with the heavenly music, the feathered songsters vowed they
would sing no more.

Time passed on, till one afternoon Bishwamitra returned. But what a
change met his eye, in his topoban. No blossoms, no flowers, no birds' songs.
It looked as if there had been some disturbance ; what could have happened ?
He wandered about for some time, till at last he saw the maidens and found
that they were the cause of the desolation. Then he cursed aloud, seated in
front of his cottage :

"Those who have spoiled my fo/Jo^fln are to be prisoners in the forest.
May creepers become iron chains, and make them immovable." Uttering these
words, Bishwamitra left the topoban and went on a pilgrimage.

Suddenly the creepers left the trees to which they clung, and twined
themselves around the girls, and pinioned the slender forms like iron bands.

Now Harischandra, King of Kosulla, was the greatest imler in all the land
of Aryavarta, for his kingdom stretched for hundreds of miles east, west and
south of the Himalayas.

This Kingdom of Kosulla is one famed in the ancient histor}- of India. It
was the country of the Sitrva-vansa, or Solar Race, whose first king was Manu,

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the Law-Giver, and comprised the whole region now known as the United
Provinces of Agra and Oudh, and part, if not the whole, of Behar. Its capital
Ajodhya, was founded by Ikshaku, the son of Mann, and had attained to great
splendour long before the days of Rama. A remnant of this ancient city is still
standing on the banks of the Saraju (Gogra river) about three miles from the
modern town of Fyzabad. It is yearly visited by thousands of pilgrims, who
go to worship at the Janamsthan, or Temple of the Nativity of Ram, and to bathe
in the sacred waters of the river Saraju, which witnessed Ram's great
Aswamedha. This famed old capital stretched from the Saraju to the Goomti
river. Lucknow was one of its suburbs and was named Luckanpur by Ram,
after his devoted brother, Lakshman.

But Harischandra, Lord of Kosulla, did not allow pride of place or power
to rule his heart. He was generous, just and kind, and was beloved by all his
people. His piety was so great that all the gods loved him and blessed him, so
that there was no sickness, nor sorrow nor poverty, in all his dominions.

In his early manhood, Harischandra was married to a princess, named
Shaibya, of great virtue and beauty. Framed in the moon-like loveliness of
her face were her glorious eyes, like twin lotuses on a single stem, and, when the
luxuriant tresses of her black hair were loosened, they made a pool for those
sparkling lotus-eyes to hide in. She was straight and slender like a palm, and
fair and fragile as a moonbeam and her lips were like honey. And Harischandra
whispered low into her ear : "Oh, Shaibya, queen of ni}- soul, well art thou
named Taramoti, Pearl among Stars."

He loved her so that he could not leave her side, and his ministers and
courtiers wondered, and exclaimed in dismay : "The Maharani's beauty
ravishes his soul, and he forgets his duties. What will become of the
kingdom ?"

Shaibya heard from friends and relations that her king and lord had been
neglecting his duty towards the State, because of her beauty and love. Though
she felt it was hard to tell her husband anything of the rumour, she vowed she
would sacrifice her own joy and pleasure and turn her husband to his duty to

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his kingdom. One evening, shortly before the sun set, while she was seated
by the lake, she saw the reflection of her husband in the water. Glancing up,
she saw him, standing behind a tree and looking at her with love and admiration,
and Shaibya knew that he neglected his durbar work, by doing this. She
fought against her tender feelings and went up to him and took his hands in
hers, and said :

"How is it that ni}- lord is here, in the garden, at this time of the day ? Is
there no diirhar to-day?"

The husband took her face in her hands, and said :

"Oh, Shaibya, I can never think of anything but you. I want no State,
no durbar. I am happiest when with you ! ' '

"My husband, king of Ajodhya, proud and happy I am now," she replied,
"but I shall be more so when the people, your subjects, know that you are the
best of rulers and do not neglect your duty towards them because of me, my
lord. I love you, my whole heart and soul are given to you, and, oh, my
husband, I pray and hope that you will not make Shaibya, whom you lo\e,
miserable by being unkind to your people or neglectful of your duty to the
kingdom."

After this, Harischandra was a finer king than before and Kosulla
prospered exceedingly, for the gods showered blessings upon the Maharajah and
his wife. And when Shaibya bore a son, Harischandra thought his cup of jo}-
was filled to over-flowing and Shaibya believed that the world did not hold
another woman as liapp\' and blessed as herself.

One day, when their son, Rohitashya, was about four years old, the father
was going out hunting and asked his son what he should bring him from the
forest. The boy answered : "Bring me home a little deer."

Harischandra caught the precious child to his heart and promised that he
would try to find one, then carried the little lad on his shoulder to the antapur
and sunned himself a while in the radiance of Shaibya 's beauty, and then he
tore himself away and started for the chase. But his thoughts were of his queen
and his son, and soon he left the hunters and rode alone to the topoban of

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Bishwamitra in the Kumaon hills, "For there," he thought, "I shall surely
find a young fawn for Rohitashya. "

As he approached the topoban, he heard a wailing sound, and then he
distinguished cries of distress. True knight as he was, ever ready to help those
in distress, he urged his horse forward and presently the cries grew louder and
clearer, and he heard sweet, shrill voices pitifully calling : "Is there no one
to save us ? Ah, we hunger, we thirst ! If any kind heart is near, come, pray
come, and help us."

So the Maharajah dismounted, and, tying his horse to a tree, proceeded on
foot to the spot whence the cries came. He penetrated through the thick bushes
and found five young and pretty girls imprisoned among the forest creepers,
the tangles of which, like living bands, held them fast, despite their struggles.
Tears streamed down their pale faces, and their cries increased in intensity when
they saw the Maharajah.

When he beheld their helpless plight, his chivalrous spirit burned with
indignation and, unsheathing his sword, he strode to them and slashed at the
creepers till the maidens were free.

"Thank you, thank you, kind Sir," they cried, "May we know who our
liberator is?"

"I am Harischandra of Kosulla," he answered, quietly, as he returned his
sword to its scabbard.

"Harischandra of Kosulla!" they echoed joyfully. "Now we can get
back to Heaven," and they told him their history.

Barely had their tale ended, when a golden rath descended from the sky,
decorated with celestial flowers called parijat. The happy fairies stepped into
it and, immediately, the gilded car began to re-ascend, and, as it did so, the
grateful maidens threw parijats at the amazed Maharajah, calling to him :

"Harischandra, we thank you, we bless you, we shall ever remember you

for your kindness to us. Be ever faithful to your religion, in J03' or in sorrow. "

In the eastern sky, the golden gates of Heaven opened and the rath

disappeared. Harischandra rubbed his eyes and thought he had been dreaming,

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but the parijat flowers, and the cut and broken creepers, told him that he had
really seen the girls and the rath. Puzzled and wondering, he returned home,
forgetting all about the fawn for Rohitashya, and when his loved Shaibya asked
him what sort of a shikar he had had, he answered that he had not seen any, and
no more was said about it.

Bishwamitra, after imprisoning the girls, had gone off on one of his
wanderings. When he returned, he was curious to see how they had fared, and
he hastened to the spot where he had left them. To his surprise, he found the
creepers cut and torn asunder, and the maidens gone ! Then Bishwamitra was
wroth, and, seating himself in concentration, he called up the past scene and
beheld Harischandra, the pious Maharajah, release the fairies. What was the
use of being a mooni, and exercising supernatural powers, if kings and swords
were to rush in, in this manner ! He determined to avenge himself, and make
the Maharajah his own judge. So he hurried to Ajodhya, and entered the durbar.

It was about the time of sunset, and the Maharajah had finished all his
work, and was on the point of leaving the dii-rbar when Bishwamitra entered and
walked up to the throne. The King began to welcome the Sage. But
Bishwamitra stopped him, calling aloud, in an angry voice : "To-day I come
not as a mooni, but as a subject, asking for justice. "

Harischandra answered, with clasped hands : "For justice, oh, moonibar ?
Who has injured you ? But will you not first accept my arghya (offering) and
afterwards tell me your trouble ? ' '

"No, no," shouted the mooni, in a terrible voice, which echoed through the
durbar like thunder : "No, I shall accept nothing, and know no rest nor peace
till I obtain justice from the Ruler."

"Revered Sir, you shall have justice," the King assured him. "Who has
wronged you?"

"King of Sasagara ! I was happy in my topoban. None ever disturbed me
there, or interrupted my work. Then there came five intruders, who despoiled and
ruined all, and I imprisoned them. And next there came a bold one, who released
those five offending damsels and cut my beautiful creepers \\'ith liis sword."

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The Maharajah's face grew colourless, and, when Bishwamitra ceased, he
clasped his hands again and said apologetically :

"Sir, great Moonibar, I am the culprit, I found the girls in dire distress
and I released them, for my religion, the guide of all kings and knights, says
'Rescue those in danger,' and I simply did my duty."

Bishwamitra shook with rage, and asked in angry tones : "Are you not
sorry for what you have done ? ' *

"No, Sir, why should I be ? I have done what my religion has taught me
is my duty as a king and knight."

"Indeed," returned Bishwamitra, "you boast of doing what your religion
teaches. Does it teach you to feign ignorance ? When I came into your court
you asked me who had injured me, and promised justice, and now that you have
had to confess j^ourself the culprit you are pleading duty. One so incapable is
not fit to be a ruler."

"Oh, Moonibar/' cried Harischandra humbly, "I did not become a ruler
by choice. I know I am unworthy to fill so great a throne, but what can I do?"

"Make a present of the kingdom to someone who is worthy," the mooni
answered tartly.

The ministers and courtiers smiled at his rage, and thought their Maharajah
just humoured him, when he answered :

"To whom shall I give it, Sir?"

"Are you really prepared to abdicate your throne?" asked Bishwamitra
in deadly earnest, and the court, seeing that the affair had taken a serious turn,
listened breathlessly.

"I shall be only too proud to give my State to one who is really able
to administer it better than I can," answered the Maharajah.

"Then give it to me !" cried out the moonibar. "Before your courtiers,
relations, friends and subjects make a present of the kingdom of Kosulla
to me."

His powerful voice resounded through the durbar, and, for an instant
stupefied those gathered there. Then ministers, courtiers and people surged

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around the throne, shouting, "No, no." Some prostrated themselves before
Harischandra, saying, "You are our king, we want no other."

But the Maharajah heeded them not, and his clear voice rose above the babel,
saying earnestly, "Lucky am I, that my State will be in such good hands."

Then, summoning his gurus (ministers) he asked for holy Ganges water,
and ordered a deed of gift to be drawn up. The court was now dumb with
consternation, and the ministers and scribes sorrowfull}' obeyed the order.
When the parchment was ready, Harischandra poured some pure Ganges water
in his hand, and, reciting appropriate mantras, he handed the deed to Bishwa-
mitra and stepped aside from the throne.

The mooni seated himself upon the great golden seat of the Surya-Vansa
kings, and then asked :

"Harischandra, where is my dakshina} No gift is complete without
dakshina ? ' '

"How much do you want?" asked the Maharajah.

"One thousand pieces of gold," said Bishwamitra.

Harischandra called to the Treasurer : "Bring one thousand gold pieces
from the Treasury."

Bishwamitra laughed loudly : "Ho ! Ho ! Harischandra, you can no longer
command the Treasurer. You have made me a gift of the kingdom, and that
includes the Treasury and all its gold. All that you can claim here as j'our
own is 3'ourself, your wife and your son. Now, how do you propose to pay me
my thousand gold pieces ? ' '

Harischandra stood motionless for a few minutes. Then he raised his
head with dignity, and said :

"Forgive me, kind Sir, for my mistake. If you will give me time, I shall
pay the dakshina.'^

"Harischandra, now you know you cannot give me the dakshina," said
the mooni, "say that you are sorry for what you did."

"No," said Harischandra, "I did what T thought right, and T shall not
speak an untruth."

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"How will you get the gold pieces?" asked Bishwamitra.

"I shall beg them," said Harischandra.

"Where will you go?" persisted Bishwamitra. "You have no place of
your own."

"I shall go to Benares, which is not an earthly city," said the self-deposed
king.

"How long will it take you to get together the thousand gold pieces?"
asked Bishwamitra.

"Six months," answered Harischandra, "I beg you to allow me that time."

"Now listen," said Bishwamitra, and he leaned forward on the throne, his
garooah robes and gourd in strong contrast to the regal grandeur of his seat.
"Just say you did wrong in releasing those girls, and I shall return you your
kingdom and absolve you of this debt."

"Moonibar, I cannot say that," answered Harischandra, "for I did no
wrong, and, were I again King, I would do the same."

"Now," said the mooni, "don't let your pride keep you from admitting
it. Think of all you will suffer. If you will not acknowledge that you did
wrong, you and your wife and your son are to quit Kosulla to-morrow morning. "

"I shall be ready to go," Harischandra replied firmly, "for I did but my
duty, in releasing those maidens."

The durbar resounded with cries of grief, which were soon hushed by the
harsh voice of the new Maharajah, who informed them he would hold his first
court and look into the administration of Kosulla. Harischandra walked away,
thinking somewhat sorrowfully of his tired ministers and officers, who, in
ordinary circumstances, would have been in their homes, for it was now dark
and the temple bells were ringing for the evening offering.

Harischandra directed his steps to the antapur. Late as it was, he found
Shaibj^a still playing with their son. As he entered, Rohitashya ran to his
mother, and throwing his arms around her, said : "When will father come?
I do so want to see him ! ' '

Harischandra took in, at a glance, the beauty of the picture, the tender

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mother-love of Shaibya's face and the winsome attractiveness of the boy, as he
looked coaxingly into his mother's eyes.

Shaibya drew the child on to her knee, sajang : "It is late, my sweet son.
Look ! the sky is dark, for the sun has gone to bed. You must do the same,
like a good little son . ' '

The boy laughed roguishly, and asked : "What will you give me, if I am
good?"

"M3' precious one," said his mother, "all that your father and I have, will
be yours one day, — everything, and the throne of Kosulla."

The little boy answered reproachfully :

"Mother, do not be unkind. I don 't want the throne, for I have often heard
father say he would exchange his place with any poor man who sleeps under the
trees and is free as a bird. I have often seen father look troubled. He is always
thinking of how to make others happ^^ Why, then, dear mother, do you say
3'ou will give me the throne ? I do not want to be Maharajah. I just want you
and father near me, and I think it would be nice if we could wander away from
here and sleep under a tree."

Harischandra, standing behind a marble pillar, watching his two dear ones,
wondered how the little boy could have so closely touched upon their future lot.
Stepping from the shadow, he placed his hand, caressingly, on Shaibya's
shoulder, and said : "It is wonderful how well Rohitashya has described our
future."

Shaibj'a did not grasp the meaning of his words but she saw that her
husband's face was unusually grave, and, clasping both his hands in hers, she
asked, sweetly : "What ails my lord? Beloved, you look ill."

"Shaibya, my loved one," he answered, "I have come to 3'ou with a cruel
tale, and I want your wifely help."

"What is it?" she cried, the solemnity of his voice, and the sorrow in his
eyes, wakening every chord of her heart, "tell me soon. I live but to love
and serve you."

Harischandra told her of all that had taken place in the durbar. He rather

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feared that his wife would take the news to heart and would be unhappy, for
she had, all her life, known wealth and luxury, and he could not hope that she
would receive the story of his changed fortunes with equanimity. But, to his
surprise, she smiled brightly into his face and, holding his hands in a tighter
clasp, said in a loving voice :

"My husband, what does it matter? Why should such a trifle trouble
you ? You did your duty as a king and knight, when you liberated those poor
girls. If Bishwamitra niooni wishes to test you, let him, but he will find he
is wrong and you were right, and some day he will come and tell you so. You
have done what your religion taught you, my lord, and the blessing of all the
devas is upon you. Let the world know that Maharajah Harischandra was
always guided by his religion."

Harischandra felt that he had never understood his wife's greatness of soul
till this his hour of adversity. Lifting Rohitashya into his arms, he drew
Shaibya closer to him and, holding wife and son in one strong, loving clasp,
he said :

"You two, my precious ones, must leave me. I shall have to wander and
beg from door to door, till I have collected the thousand gold pieces for the
dakshina. I shall take you to your father's kingdom."

But Shaibya interrupted him saying :

"My dear husband, I shall not return to my father's home. Where you
go I shall follow. I married you, come duk (sorrow), come suk (joy), and
nothing shall part me from you. And where I go, my child goes with me."

Harischandra begged her to go back to her father, and tried to describe
what the life of poverty and hardship would be like, but Shaibya silenced every
argument with a caress, exclaiming : "My king, you are now more mine than
you have ever been. There is now no kingdom to come between us, and I shall
be all and everything to you. Oh, it is a joyful prospect, and I shall have an
opportunity of proving my devotion to you."

Harischandra looked at the beautiful face of his wife, and thought he had
never seen her more entrancing. Love irradiated her every feature, and her

108 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

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lips seemed to him a flower from which he could draw his soul's refreshment.
He strained her closer to his heart, murmuring :

"Have I lost Kosulla to find my all in life in Shaibya ! Oh, my wife,
pearl-star of happiness, it shall be as you wish. We shall go forth together, and
nothing shall separate us."

When the Maharajah changed his rich robes for a garooah-colonred dhoti
of coarse texture, Shaibya felt a sharp pang go through her heart, but she hid
her hurt and, following his example, dressed herself and their son like hermits.
So delicate was her sense of honour, that she would not take with her personal
jewels, the gifts of her parents. She left all to the State, only placing some
cheap bangles upon her wrists, that none might think her a widow.

At dawn, they left the Palace and set out for Benares. The people of
Kosulla followed them along the streets, weeping bitterly, till the great gates
of the city were reached. Then Harischandra forbade them to come any further,
and the little party went on alone.

For days, they travelled on, through the towns, villages and golden wheat-
fields of the kingdom of Kosulla, begging from door to door, and sleeping under
trees at night. Shaibya noticed the loved faces of husband and child growing
sharp and weary, and she bravely hid her own fatigue and enlivened the day's
march with stories and snatches of song.

At last, they reached Benares, and found shelter in a little hut, not far
from the temple of Bishweswar, on the Ganges. (The temple was razed to the
ground by the Emperor Aurangzeb, and a mosque built on its site). Here they
lived, subsisting on bhog (sacred food) from Bishweswar and Annapurna temples.
Harischandra begged persistently but did not succeed in collecting any money,
and each day was bringing him nearer to the time when the six months of
grace would be ended.

On the eve of the dreaded day, he was restless, and thought he would go
out into the cool air and refresh his ferveied body. He opened the door and
stepped over the threshold. As he was fastening the latch, he saw a big black
figure standing up against the cottage.

NINE WEAL INDIAN WOMEN 109

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"Who are you" asked Harischandra.

' ' Do you not know me ? " asked a harsh , metallic voice . ' ' My name is Debt ,
and, in all the living world, there is none more powerful than I. Kings,
princes and nobles fear me when they fall under my sway. Crimes are often
committed to propitiate me."

Harischadra shivered with fear. He rushed back into the hut and, closing
the door securely, fell upon his knees and prayed to be released from this awful
bondage. Sleep did not touch his eyes, and, when day broke, he begged Shaibya
to go to the Temple of Bishweswar and pray that he would succeed in getting
the money that day.

Shaibya smiled sweetly at him and said, cheerfully :
"Beloved, do not be so depressed. This trial is but to test you, to prove
your integrity, and, if you have faith, God will bring you through it victorious.
I shall go and pray that he will give you strength and help."

She spent a long time at Bishweswar 's shrine and, when she returned, she
told Harischandra that she felt sure all would come right, in spite of the present
blackness. Shaibya had brought some bhog from the temple and, after
they had refreshed themselves with it, they wandered out, accompanied by
Rohitashya, and begged from house to house, but all in vain.

Evening was closing in, and the sun hung low in the western sky and
tinged the holy waters of the Ganges with his crimson rays. Piles of rosy and
golden clouds had gathered, to say good-night to the sun, and birds were
winging their way across the ri\'er to their favourite resting-places. All
Nature seemed putting aside the turmoil and strife of day, as Harischandra,
and his wife and child turned their steps homewards. Shaibya was endeavour-
ing to drive away her husband's despondency with hopes of better luck
tomorrow, when a harsh voice smote their ears, and, turning, they beheld
Bishwamitra.

"The six months will this day be over. Where are my thousand gold
pieces?" he asked. His kamandalu (begging-bowl) was in his hand, and a
triumphant expression gave a malignant look to his eyes. He surveyed the

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forlorn and emaciated trio before him, and repeated : "Where is my money ?"

"I have not succeeded in getting it, kind Sir," answered Harischandra.

"Well," replied Bishwamitra, "Idon't want the money. Just own that you
were in the wrong about those prisoners of mine, and I shall forgive your debt."

"No, revered Sir," answered Harischandra, his voice ringing firm and
strong as of old, and Shaibya's heart rejoiced at his invincibility. "I cannot
say that. I simply did my Raj duty, and I shall never regret that I did."

"Then give me my money, give me my money," demanded the mooni.

Harischandra stood before him, but made no answer.

"Proud and haughty man," shouted Bishwamitra, "your pride must be
trampled upon, and the world will know that you were in the wrong. But there
is time, even now. Say that you were wrong, and I shall pardon you. See the
fading sunset. With its last rays, will disappear the honoured name of your
ancient famih' ."

"Kind mooni/' interrupted Harischandra, "spare my ancestors. Leave
the ancient name of my house. But take my life in place of the dakshina.
Here, I offer to you my heart ! Stab it, and let my blood efface my debt."

"Why should I take your life, when I want my money?" sneered the
mooni. You pride yourself on your integrity as a Kshattriya, and this is how
you keep your word. Ho ! Ho ! ' ' and his mocking laugh echoed in the street.

"Kind mooni/' and Shaibya fell at his feet, "take my life, and spare the
ancient name of the Kosulla Raj."

The mooni looked at her and a fresh thought crossed his mind.

"My child," he said to her, in suave tones, "if you are so anxious to help
your husband, why don't you go and sell yourself as a slave to some rich lady ?"

The words had barely left his lips, when Shaibya sprang to her feet.

"Oh, kind mooni/' was her thought "like a friend, you have pointed out
to me the true path of wifely devotion." Aloud she said : "Husband, I shall
sell myself, and bring you the gold."

"No, never!" exclaimed Harischandra, in an anguished voice, and all
his manhood rebelled against the degrading proposition. All his chivalry

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 111

SHAIBYA

swelled up, within him, at the thought of such debasement for his gentle wife.

"Never mind the anger of this mooni. Let the name of Ikshaku and his
race be forgotten in this world, but let it not be said that a Kshattriya was a
coward and sold his wife to slavery to save himself. Moonibar, curse me, kill
me, besmirch mj^ family name, punish me as thou wilt, but do not make my
wife suffer, to free me from thy cruel bond."

Harischandra was very angry, but Shaibya watched her opporunity, and
fled while he gazed, with grief, at their son. She ran swiftly to the richer
quarters of the town, and began to ask from house to house if a woman-slave
were needed. She had not gone far, when she heard of a rich merchant who
wanted a slave for his wife. Obtaining admission to his presence, she told him
she could procure one for him.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Here!" replied Shaibya, "I wish to sell myself."

"Impossible !" exclaimed the merchant, "you look like one who is waited
upon by slaves ! I want a strong wench, who can work."

"I can work. Try me. Sir," begged Shaibya.

"Don't talk nonsense. You look too fragile. " Then he said reflectively :
"It is difficult to get slaves, nowadays. Since Harischandra came to the throne,
the country has been so prosperous that there is no poverty, and, consequently
no slaves to be had."

Shaibya 's face lighted up with pleasure at hearing her beloved husband
praised. Then she said : "Kind Sir, if you will purchase me, 3'ou will never
regret it. I shall work hard, and be ever faithful to you."

The sincerity in her voice caused the merchant to look more closeh? at her,
and he was struck by the refined purity and goodness of her face.

His voice changed, and he asked curiously : "Who are you, young
woman, and why are you so anxious to sell yourself as a slave?"

"Sir," she answered, and the earnestness of her voice assured him that she
spoke the truth, "my poor husband is in debt, and I wish to sell myself in order
to free him."

112 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SHAIBYA

The merchant thought for a moment. Then he asked : "Well, what is
the price you want for yourself ? ' '

"One thousand gold pieces," she answered eagerly.

But the merchant was a miser, and he liked to get everything as cheaph- as
he could. So he rejoined : "Impossible !" and his manner was so rough that
Shaibya was afraid of losing the chance of selling herself, and, thinking half
the sum would be better than nothing, she said : "Then five hundred, kind
Sir, give me five hundred."

In spite of himself, the merchant felt sorry for her, and not only agreed to
the sum but gave her the gold pieces, which she hastih' carried to the mooni,
and, placing them at his feet, she cried :

"Here are five hundred gold pieces. That is all I am worth. Oh,
Moonihar, be kind, and wait for the other five hundred."

Harischandra exclaimed, in tones broken with grief: "Oh, Shaibya,
have you sold yourself, to pay my debt ? Oh, why did you ? How could you ?
Hundreds of maids waited upon you once, and now you are going to be a slave
yourself and ser^'e others. What a terrible day it was when you took me for
a husband, a coward, to save whom, you went and sold yourself."

Then, with clasped hands, he looked up to the sky, and prayed aloud, in
a voice of such terrible frenzy that Rohitashya was terrified and clung to
Shaibya : "God of Heaven, hear me ! my wife is a bond slave ! Indra Dev,
hurl down one of your thunders, and annihilate me from this Earth. Yom,
Lord of Death, bear me hence ! None welcome your coming, but I shall
embrace you with open arms. Come, kind King, and free me from this burden
of mortality."

The merchant, who had followed Shaibya, began to feel alarmed that
he might lose his bargain as well as his mone}-, and he called im-
patiently.

"My newly-bought slave, it is getting late, come away."

Harischandra dashed his hands down and shouted : "Slave ! my wife, a
slave y '

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 113

SHAIBYA

But Shaibya caught his clenched and threatening hands in hers, and said
beseechingly :

"My husband and lord, do not forget who you are ! Half the debt is now
paid and you will, I am sure, get the remainder of the money. You will have
Rohitashya with you and will be happy. And when fair days come back,
perhaps you may forget me and have other wives, but you will ever be my only
deh, for you have counted Truth above all things and I am proud of you."

Again the merchant called, impatiently, and Shaibya, touching Haris-
chandra's feet, said : "Good bye, my husband," and, embracing Rohitashya,
covered him with farewell kisses.

Harischandra seemed like one bereft of his senses. He snatched Shaibya
into his arms, and, hiding his face on her shoulder, wept aloud, saying :

"Oh, my loved wife, my beautiful one, how can I let you go? All these
hard months you have been so good, so brave ! I never missed the luxuries of
the Palace, for you were all in life to me. Don't leave me now, my Shaibya,
my heart will break. My soul cannot bear this loss."

The merchant, in a very loud and angry voice, reminded Shaibya that he
waited for her. Gently releasing herself from the distraught Harischandra,
she drew her arms away from her child and, once again touching her husband's
feet, turned to leave them.

But Rohitashya clung to her, crying : "Take me with you, mother."
And Harischandra cried, in awful grief : "Yes, take him Shaibya, and forgive
and forget your unfortunate husband, who is not worthy of you." And then,
like a madman, he called out : "Shaibya, Shaibya, where are you going?"

Shaibya looked at him gently and said : "Beloved, my husband, you have
been guided by your religion, and will be guided by it all your life. God will
give you strength," and, lifting the weeping child into her arms, she signed to
the merchant that she would follow him. But his mean spirit was roused, and
he asked angrily : "Do \^ou expect me to feed and clothe the boy, as well as

you?'

"No," answered Shaibya," he can share my food with me."

114 -NINE WEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SHAIBYA

The_v soon reached the merchant's house and Shaibya found that she was
the onh' servant. The house was a large one, and the merchant's wife a vain
and worldly woman, with no thought beyond herself and her jewels and clothes.
She had never, in her life, seen anyone as beautiful and refined as Shaibya, and
her narrow spirit soon flamed with jealousy. She ridiculed her husband for
buying such a white-faced, helpless-looking slave. Shaibya tried to appease
her, by calling her 'mother', and gentl}^ assuring her that she could and would
work. Soon, the merchant's house began to look transformed, for Shaibya
worked as no other slave had ever done, and all the neighbours wondered. But
the merchant and his wife had no further pity for her, and the meagre dole of
food vouchsafed her had to do for her and her child.

Shaibya 's one happiness was Rohitashya, and, whenever the merchant's
wife ill-treated him, she kissed away his tears and comforted him with assur-
ances that, when his father came back, he would never let him cry. The
merchant's wife, carried away by her jealousy of Shaiya's beauty, said, she
would not allow Rohitashya to remain in the house unless he worked, so he
helped his mother, and one of his duties was to gather flowers for the puja room.

When Shaibya walked away, following the merchant, and carrying her
child in her arms, Harischandra stood as silent as a stone, watching them
disappear up the street. The niooni woke him from his apathy, b^- asking
harshly :

"Do you see the sun? It will soon disappear, and with it your dynasty
and name."

Harischandra broke away from him, shouting aloud : "Will any kind
soul save me, or buy me?"

He rushed on, thus shouting, till he came to the fields of shmashan (burning
place). The undertaker needed a man, to help him bum the dead. When he
heard Harischandra shouting, he looked at him, and said :

"You appear to be either a Brahmin or Kshattri3'a. You will not do
chandaVs work, will you?"

Now, a chandal is considered to be of the lowest caste, because his duty is

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 115

SHAIBYA

to burn the dead, and, in India, all dead bodies are considered impure.

Harischandra answered : "I am in great trouble, and one to whom I owe
money is following me. If you can help me, I shall be ever grateful to you."

"How much do you want?" asked the chandal.

"Five hundred gold pieces, and I promise I shall be a faithful servant to
you, and carry out all your wishes."

The chandal produced five hundred gold pieces, and, when the mooni
arrived, in pursuit of Harischandra, he found him embracing the chandal as
if he were his brother, and heard him say : "You may be a chandal in caste,
but you have the heart of a Brahmin."

However, Bishwamitra refused to touch the money, because it had been
handled by a chandal. The chandal was indignant, and said :

"What kind of mooni are you? And where is your righteousness ? You
were going to destroy this man, and his ancient name, for a paltry five hundred
gold pieces, and now you talk of caste ! When you come to this burning-ghat,
a corpse, who will touch you ? Who will do the last, on earth, for you ? I, — I,
a chandal ! Remember this. All must die. Brahmin and Kshattriya, mooni,
priest and slave, and all must pass to eternity through chandal hands."

The unpleasant truth thrilled the mooni, and he hastily departed j but, to
the chandal's great amusement, he did not leave the gold behind him.

Harischandra remained in the shmashan, helping the chandal to bum the
dead. Often, at night, he stood at the ghat, near the fast-flowing river, and,
looking at the silent sky, wondered where Shaibya and their son were, and what
was their lot.

One morning, Rohitashya took the shaji (flower basket) and went into the
garden, to gather flowers as usual, but did not return. When the merchant
came to do his puja, he wanted the flowers and called for Rohitashya, who was
found lying dead, in the garden.

The young wife screamed : "Turn out that slave. She has brought us
bad luck, and, if we look upon Shaibj^a's face now, evil will come upon us. "

The miserly merchant, fearing he might have to defray the expenses of

116 NINE IDEAL INi)IAN WOMEN

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the boy's cremation, took her advice, and ordered Shaibya to leave the house
instantly, and take her son's corpse with her.

Shaibya, distracted with grief, wept over Rohitashya's body, saying :
"Oh, my precious boy, my only happiness, light of my life, why have you gone ?
Oh, my child, come back ! Rohitashya, awake, speak to me !"

The hours passed, while she exhausted her grief, and it was evening before
she thought of the cremation. Lifting the loved body from off the ground, she
covered the face with her achal, and set out for the shmashan. The clouds
gathered, as she walked the solitary streets, neither moon nor star was visible,
and she seemed to be going through a city of darkness.

Weeping and wailing, she reached the burning-ghat. In this city of the
dead, the sight was one of horror. Shaibya, once the Maharani of Ajodhya,
walked among the burning pyres, and chased away jackals, with her dead child
on her breast. She clasped him tightly, and called out, in a heart-rending voice :

"If there is any kind-hearted person in this shmashan, come to me, and
help me ! ' '

Close by the river, there stood a big tree. Under it, with a thick stick in
his hand, wass a chandal, whose heart beat fast, as he said to himself : A
woman's cry ! In this shmashan, a woman is crying out for kindness ! She
must be mad with grief, to ask for help, on the burning-ground of the dead. "

Again, the cry came : "Is there any kind heart who would help me ?"

The chandal put his hand to his breast and said : "Many a dead bodj-
I have burnt in this shmashan. Why does my heart beat, at the cry of this
woman ? ' '

He walked to the place whence the cry came. By the lightning's flash,
he saw a woman, with a dead child in her arms.

He asked : "Woman, what do you want here ? Whom are you calling ? ' '

In an agonized tone, she answered : "I have come to give all I had in this
world. Will you help me?"

"What is it? Is your son dead? How is it that you have come alone?
Have you no husband, no friend?"

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 117

SHAIBYA

She said : "Oh, I had all, once, but they are gone, and now the only joy
I had, this son of mine, has left me. Will you be kind and help me ?"

"You want me to burn his body, ' ' said the chandal. "Give me the money,
and I shall buy the necessary wood."

"But I have no money," she replied.

"Then you can't have your child's body burnt."

"Oh, kind man, can you not give me the wood, without the money?" she
begged.

"A few cowries will buy a bundle of wood," he said.

"I have not got even that," she said in distress.

"Woman, then I cannot do anything for you. I am a servant, and must
do my duty to my master," and, as she wept, he added, "Why did you not
biing some one with you, to help you?"

"Sir, the child was alone with me, a sacred trust. What shall I tell his
father, when he returns !"

By this time the storn had burst, and a vivid flash of lightning lit up
everything like day, and Harischandra, for it was he, saw the glitter of gold
on Shaibya's neck.

He said : "You say you have no money, and that you loved your child,
yet you have a gold ornament on your neck. Give it to me, and I shall procure
wood to cremate the body."

At his words, Shaibya placed the lifeless form of her son upon the ground,
and, clasping her hands together, wept bitterly, for the jewel he had noticed
and asked for wa^ her mangal-sutra (wedding amulet) which no Hindu wife
removes from her neck, till she is widowed. The mere suggestion plunged her
into a frenzy of grief, and she cried aloud, in piercing accents :

"Harischandra, m}' husband, where, oh, where are you ? Am I a widow ?
Beloved, if you live, come and tell me I am still your wife ! This chandal is
so cruel as to wish me to take the mangal-sutra off my neck. Harischandra,
where are you to-night? I have lost my only child, and have I lost you
also?"

118 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SHAIBYA

Harischandra was now sure of her identity, for his request for the amulet
bad merely been to test her. He cried out : "Shaibya, is it you ?" and caught
her in his arms, and strained her to his heart.

Resting his head against hers, he mingled his tears with hers, murmuring
sadly: "My beautiful Shaibya, my lost pearl-star! do we meet thus, in a
shmashan over the body of our precious son, the heir of KosuUa, the light of the
Surya-vansa ? We shall never more part. Come, let us take the body of
Rohitashya with us, and end our lives in holy Mother Ganges."

Overwhelmed with sorrow, they clung to each other. Shaibya, worn with
battling against adversity, the shock of her son's death and the sudden meeting
with her husband, broke down completely, and lay swooning in his arms.
Harischandra wept oVer her, lavished his long pent-up love upon her and
warmed her back to life with his caresses. She gazed into his sad eyes, with
her grief-sunken ones, and murmured : "Harischandra, our son, our son ! "

"Beloved," he answered, and the leaden despair in his voice struck the
last knell of sorrow on her heart, "with Rohitashya has gone the hope of our
lives. With him, the race of Ikshaku is ended; my family name has ceased.
Nothing remains for us to live for. Then, as I have said, let us seek death
and forgetfulness in the sacred Ganges."

He gently put Shaibya away from him, and lifted the silent form of
Rohitashya into his arms, to bear him to the river. The boy's eyes were half
open and his lips slightly parted, showing the pearly teeth. The black curls
clustered, in silken rings, upon his forehead, and, as Harischandra raised the
body of his son from the ground, the pangs of fatherly love and anguish over-
came him, and he addressed the still form, in passionate entreaty :

"Rohitashya, my boy, open your eyes, and speak ! My son, mj^ treasure,
your father is here. Speak, oh, speak !"

Together, the despairing husband and wife mourned their son, and began
to stumble rather than walk towards the river. Unheeded by them, the storm
had swept over them, and the pale stars of dawn were now showing in the azure
sky. But, for them, hope was ended, and their one desire, now, was to find

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 119

SHAIBYA

peace in death. But a form approached them, and they recognized him as
Bishwamitra Mooni.

"Why do you come to me again, Moonibar?" asked Harischandra.
"I owe you nothing now."

The mooni stood in their path, and replied, in a very calm and soft voice :

"Harischandra, I come to ask you, for the last time, if you will not admit that
you were wrong in releasing my prisoners. If you will only say you are sorry for
that action, I shall restore to you your kingdom, and all that you have lost."

The long-suffering Maharajah raised his head, and his whole attitude
changed. The despondency of grief was gone, the dejection of his bearing
vanished. Kingly indignation and scorn lent height and majesty to his
attenuated frame. His eyes blazed, like living fires, and he answered, in a
voice of invincible determination :

"Moonibar, I did my duty as a king, and would do it again, were the
chance to come again. You cannot tempt me to deny what our holy religion
teaches. You wish to return my kingdom to me now. For what ? for whom ?
See!" and he held out the body of Rohitashya, "the dip (light) of Kosulla is
gone. The name of Surya-vansa has ceased to be, in this world. Everything
is lost to me, but Truth. I came into this life empty-handed, I go from it the
same, but Truth, divine and righteous Truth, has ever been mine, and shall be
mine. No power of yours can wrest it from me, and I spurn your ofiFer and
invite ybu to follow me to the edge of Mother Ganges, and there witness the
end of the last of the Royal Sons of the Sun. "

His voice sounded like a clarion, and Shaibya held herself proudly. What
mattered all the past suffering and sorrow ? Was it not bliss to be mated to a
soul like his ? Could death hurt ? No, it would be but the crossing to another
and higher life ! Together, he and she would float forth from mortality to
immortality. Already, the golden gates of the blest were opening before her
tired eyes, and she waited for the liquid notes of heavenly music. But earth
^till claimed her and him. The Royal Children of the Sun had yet work to do
in the living world, and the mooni^s voice broke her reverie.

120 NINE WEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SHAIBYA

He now spoke in tones of ineifable peace, and his words seemed, at first,
another dream.

"Rohitashya but sleeps in a trance caused by a snake-bite. Give him to
me, I shall restore him."

Dazed and wondering, belie\'ing and yet doubting, Harischandra allowed
the Sage to take the child's body from his arms. The mooni seated himself,
and, placing the boy upon the ground, bathed a tinj^ punctured wound, upon
the right thigh, with water from his kamandalu, and then applied some healing
balm. After a few minutes, Rohitashya opened his eyes, and saw his father.
A flash of joy illumined his face, and, jumping up, he threw himself into
Harischandra 's outstretched arms. Shaibya's enraptured cry, at his restora-
tion, reminded husband and child that she was there, and Harischandra found
room for her in his arms. As they stood locked in each other's embraces, with
tears of joy where furrows of anguish had been, the sun rose in golden splendour
and bathed them with his morning radiance.

"Harischandra, victory is yours," said the mooni. and admiration filled
his voice. "I have lived on this earth for many years and have never paid
homage to anyone, but to-day I honour you and stand before you conquered,
and you are the one who has conquered me. Your righteousness shall live for
ever. In heaven your throne is now being made ready. All these trials have
been but to test your virtue. Now return to Kosulla, and live happily there.
Your son and your son 's son shall sit on the throne of Mann for many generations
to come."

The Maharajah, the Maharani and their son fell at Bishwamitra's feet.

"Moonibar/' said Harischandra, "I can never thank you enough. For me
these trials have been but a mirror in which I beheld my Shaibya's unselfish
love. It is the crown and jewel of my life."

Soon all Kasi (Benares) rang with the wonderful news. The chandal of
the burning-ghat came and knelt at Harischandra 's feet, and said :

"Forgive me. Sire, for hiring a Kshattriya King as my assistant."

But the Maharajah would not permit him to say any more. Bending

NINE WEAL INDIAN WOMEN 121

SHAIBYA

forward, he raised the lowly chandal, and answered :

"My true friend, your kind help saved me, and I shall never forget your
kindness. Warriors and kings know no caste. For them the sun shines but
to manifest to the world the truth and chivalry which must shine from pole to
pole before perfect peace and brotherhood come to reign for ever on earth.
Chandal though you be, and despised by others, your name shall live for ever
and be remembered by every king, while this world lasts."

The merchant and his wife prostrated themselves at Shaibya's feet, craving
forgiveness for all their harshness. The happy Maharani thanked them, with
tears, for purchasing her, and thus helping her to help her beloved husband.
And Harischandra thanked and rewarded them for being the instruments
through which he found his wife and child. Bishwamitra accompanied them to
Ajodhya, and ever, as they journeyed thither, the concourse gathered, and,
when the gates of the Palace were reached, all the people of KosuUa surged in
joyous masses around their King and Queen.

Harischandra held a great durbar, and the chandal was the most honoured
guest.

To this day, in Benares, is the shmashan where the Maharajah worked as a
chandal, and it is known to the present generation as Harischandra Ghat, and,
near by, stands a house where the famous chandal lived.

On the same terrace in the Palace where Harischandra had joined Shaibya
and Rohitashya, the night before they left the Palace on their wanderings, the
three were again seated under the full moon. Harischandra had Rohitashya on
his knee, and, on his left, was Shaibya. He said to her, in a proud and loving
tone :

"Shaibya, if I had not been sent on that exile, and Bishwamitra had not
been the means of trying our lives, the world would never have known the love
you possessed for your husband. You sold your life, to help me in the path
of right, which no other wife ever did. As long as the world lasts, your love
for me will live, and your name will shine like the star of satitwa (virtuous
love)."

122 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SIT A

SITA

I

Some thousands of years ago in the north of India, there was a kingdom
called Videha. A pious man reigned there, named Janaka Rishi. His piety
and goodness won for him the name of Rishi. He was a venerable man, and
although a Maharajah, he led the life of a farmer.

One spring morning this King-farmer was out in the fields ploughing as
usual, and the sun was shining in all its glory on the ripe yellow corn in the
surrounding fields, giving it a rich golden appearance. The saintly looking
king was driving a team of four grey oxen, and making as he drove, straight
long sitas (furrows) in the ground. Suddenly his attention was drawn to what
he thought was a stone in the way of his plough, it was something hard and
solid. The oxen were stopped and the King Rishi stooped down to see what it
was, when to his great surprise he discovered a gold gharrah (pitcher) hurried
in the ground. The King picked up the gharrah and to his utter astonishment
he found it contained a beautiful little baby, a little girl ! The King was spell
bound for a moment. Was this some delusion? Was it a dream? or was it
really true ? The King was overwhelmed with happiness and said to himself :
"I am no longer childless, this baby shall be my daughter and shall bear the
name of my ancestors." King Rishi hastened to the Palace to show the
precious baby to the Queen. The Maharani's heart, was filled with unspeakable
happiness and joy when she saw the lovely baby, and there was great rejoicing
in the State when the news became known that the Queen had a daughter.
The little girl was called Sita as she was found in the furrows (sitas) .

II

The great King of Rakshasas who inhabited the southern part of India, was

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 123

SITA

Ravan, Ruler of Lanka (Ceylon). This King was a rich and powerful man.
His country contained vast mines of gold and precious stones. He had many
sons and they were all brave, valiant men, and added strength and power to his
name.

In those olden days, it was customary for assemblages to be held in the
forests by jogis and rishis. These were reverenced men who had great
freedom and travelled all over India, holding conclaves wherever they chose.

On one occasion when a meeting was in progress, these holy men were
disturbed by an order from King Ravan who sent his messenger to disperse
them and send them out of his territory, unless they paid him a tribute. "We
are beggars and hermits," the holy men replied, "and have neither money nor
possessions. How can we pay tribute? Ask the King to kindly excuse us."
The messenger went backwards and forwards several times, but. King Ravan
was obdurate and nothing would persuade him to change his mind so, the
moonis had to comply with his demand. The vioonis then selected a gharrah
and each of the holy men put a drop of blood, taken from his forehead, into it
and handed it over to the messenger, saying : "Take this as a tribute to your
Lord. This gharrah is most valuable, for it carries a crushing significance
which will end his royal splendour." When the messenger arrived with the
gharrah and the message, the King was so alarmed at the words and told his
messenger to carry the gharrah to India and bury it in some deserted place.
The hermits in the meanwhile disappeared.

North into Videha the messenger journeyed, and buried the portentous
gold pitcher in an appropriate land. This was the gharrah in which Sita,
daughter of the earth, was found. Janaka and his Maharani and all his subjects
of Videha welcomed the furrow-born baby as their Rajkuniari.

Great was the joy of the kingdom, when, just a year after Sita was found
in the furrows. King Janaka's wife gave birth to a daughter, who was named
Urmila. At the same time, the wife of Prince Kushadhwaja, the brother of
Janaka, bore him twin daughters, their names being Mandavi and Srutakirty.
They were all very pretty children; but Sita was by far the most beautiful, a

124 . NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SITA

Goddess of Beauty. Sita was in ignorance of her birth and of her parentage :
Janaka and the Queen were indeed her father and mother in thought, wish,
and desire. They looked upon her as their golden ray, their good fortune.
She was regarded by all as the Princess Royal of Videha.

The four Princesses bore deep aifection for each other. The King was
most happy to have such loving daughters around him.

The years passed away happily. Sita arrived at the age of fourteen.
Many suitors pleaded for her hand, the Maharajah knew not whom to accept,
and in his perplexity, thought of a test. An enormous bow had been left in
his keeping by a great Brahmin Parashurama, who had told King Janaka that
the weapon was very ancient and could be wielded only by one with divine
attributes. The bow was Siva's, and when Parashurama left it he said
"when I return I shall break the bow and marry Sita. But if I am late in
returning, you should marry your daughter to the man who can break the bow. ' '

Accordingly as Parashurama did not return, and Sita was in her maiden-
hood, the saint king sent out invitations all over India, north, south, east and
west for a great Swayambara with the news that whoever broke the bow would
marry Janaka 's daughter Sita. The King also invited all the holy men,
rishis and moonis to be present. Among those invited was Bishwamitra, a
renowned sage of the court of Ajodhya, and preceptor to the sons of Dasaratha,
the Sun King of Kosala.

Ill

Dasaratha Maharajah was a warrior of fame and great riches. He had
brought all the tribes of the Solar Races under his imperial sway. His dynasty
had been found by Raghu the Great, the Sun Prince whose successors had ever
striven to preserve the honour of the name which all were proud to bear.
Dasaratha was the noblest of his line and headed the chiefs and devotees in the
clans of the Suryavansa, as the saintly Janaka did in the Moon Race. The
ruler of the Kosalas was such another as Rajarshi of \'ideha, having arrived
at an old age before he knew the joy of children on his knees.

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King Dasaratha had three wives, — the first was the Queen Kausalya, a
stately and religious woman, daughter of Kosala, was respected and loved by
King Dasaratha. The next was a Persian Princess, and his favourite, by name
Keykaya, a woman of great beauty and courage. On two occasions she saved
the life of her husband and king. This together with her charms, had endeared
her above the others to the King. The 3-oungest wife was Sumitra, daughter
of the Maharajah of Magadha.

After years of patient waiting and many pujas and yagnas, these queens
pleased their aged husband by the birth of four sons. The eldest queen
Kausalya 's son was named Ramchandra and he was the first born ; Ke3-kaya's
son was Bharata, and Sumitra's twin sons were Lakshmana and Satrugna. The
birth of these four sons meant much in the land of Kosala. The hearts of the
people rejoiced ; and the land was full of delight and promise.

The beautiful palace-house of the Sun-King stood on the banks of the
river Saraju. Here these Princes lived and grew to manhood in such love and
devotion to one another, that it would appear as if one soul had been diffused
in four bodies. The twins attached themselves in a wonderful manner to their
half-brothers. Lakshmana was the inseparable companion of Ramchandra, and
Satrugna of Bharata. The king loved his sons with an intensity born of
the long years of waiting and Rama was his favourite. His exemplary conduct
and prompt obedience to the wishes of his father, became almost a proverb in
the Kingdom. In him were centred all the king's hopes and the people of
Ajodhya built theirs on him as well.

The care and education of the Rajkumars was confided to the Venerable
Basista Deb, a pious man and very learned, with such accomplishments as
would grace a Prince. Under his guidance these royal youths developed into
clever, brave and courteous young men.

IV

When Prince Rama was about sixteen years of age, a band of Kakshasas
from the south, approached Kosala, devastating the forests of the many groups

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of hermits residing in them. Basista Deb considered this a good opportunity
for Rama to show his bravery, and the boy, eager to earn a reputation, and win
his spurs, unhesitatingly accepted the idea. King Dasaratha, his father, was
very reluctant to accept such a suggestion, but the persuasions of the rishi made
the King consent. The brothers Rama and Lakshmana accompanied Basista
Deb. When they arrived at the topoban of Bishwamitra Mooni, Ramchandra
heard all about the giantess Taraka and killed her the next time she visited the
topoban.

When Ramchandra was leaving, Bishwamitra said : "You have killed the
giantess but she has two sons, Marich and Subahu and they will come and
disturb me in my pujas, so you will have to destroy them also". Ramchandra
and Lakshmana with Basista Deb waited there, and when Marich and his
brother attacked the topoban of Bishwamitra, Ramchandra with his great skill
sent such arrows that Marich ran away and his brother was killed. After this
Basista Deb told Bishwamitra to take the boys home. They all paid homage
to Basista Deb and Ramchandra and Lakshmana started for Kosala with
Bishwamitra.

The young Princes were returning in all their glory, when on their
journey Bishwamitra spoke of the great wedding to be held by the Maharajah
of Videha, and said he would like to attend it in company with them. The
Princes readily consented, and they followed him to Mithila.

V

They arrived on the morning of the wedding day. The capital of the
Chandravansa Chakravati was a city of peace and nature smiled there all the
year round. It looked grand, hung with flags on e\ery tower and turret and
was gay for the approaching occasion. Drums beat and bells rung to welcome
the crowds, as they entered. It was a brilliant sight. Kings and Princes on
splendid horses and fine elephants, nobles in decorated and sumptuous raths.
Amongst them came the little party with Bishwamitra. Though the two Princes
were dressed in simple clothes their appearance attracted one and all. Ram-

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chandra and Lakshmana were deeply interested in all they saw, for this was
their first visit to another kingdom besides their father's. The two Princes
walked on with their sage friend into the garden where stood the royal temple
of Mithila, with the family God. In passing through the garden from another
gateway four maidens approached. The}- were attired in red silk raiment and
each carried a thala (plate) containing paste sandal-wood, flowers and other
offerings of worship, which made sweet-scented aroma. The}^ all drew near
the temple steps together. Prince Rama's dark eyes met the soft eyes of the
tallest girl ; in that encounter two hearts beat quickly in one accord ; the sealed
casket of love had been opened. Silently but assuredly, Sita gave all to Rama
and he gave all to Sita. The unknown fair maiden filled Rama's heart and he
whispered, "You are the queen of my heart" and Sita's silent thoughts to the
stranger said, "Take all I have for j'ou are the one I love."

The maiden disappeared into the shadowy interior of the sacred
building, with an unusualh- bright colour on her lovely face. Each wondered
who the other was. In the evening the durbar was held in Janaka's spacious
hall of audience, where the crystal floors reflected the forms of the guests as
they were ceremoniously ushered to their seats. There was a gold throne in
the centre of a dais by which King Janaka stood, surrounded by the jewelled
thrones of the various kings and princes.

The Durbar Hall contained a gallery for ladies and there the lovely Sita
stood with her sisters. She was dressed in rich bridal attire, and there lay the
garland on a golden tray, which would be thrown by Sita round the neck of
the hero of the swayambara. In the clear space before the throne, Janaka stood
watching his guests, most anxiously waiting to discover the great hero. As
each competitor advanced to the "Hara Dhanoo" (Bow), his bard sang his titles
and praises. Hour after hour passed — Kings, Princes and nobles of the Sun
and Moon and other races had exerted their utmost skill. They could not
even move the bow, from where it lay, much less bend it. Disappointment
and anger were visible on the faces of hundreds of the Knights.

Then Rama approached the bow, and stood before it, while a herald's

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sonorous voice called aloud his name and title. As he stood there, the centre
of attraction, Sita, who was in the gallery, recognised him as he stood before
the fateful bow — was he really the same dark handsome youth who had won her
heart on the temple steps ? Her soul thrilled with joy, while her heart sank
with fear. In her agitated condition she did not hear what the herald had
shouted out. Her prayers arose in the words, "Oh God, help him; help him
my God". She repeated unceasingly "I love him, help him to be mine".
There is the man one or two whispered ; then there was a stir, as if the crowd
was growing impatient. Rama gently ad\'anced. The eyes of all who were
present in the hall, were fixed upon Rama. He lifted the bow so as to gauge
its weight. Sita's heart beat fast. Before the people could say anything,
Ramchandra had broken the bow into two. Trumpets were blown and the
conch shells sounded.

VI

Janaka looked most happy and advanced towards Rama to wish him well.
His beloved daughter had found a suitable husband. Could there have been a
greater union than that of the Sun-Prince to the Moon-Princess ! The whole
durbar rose to their feet, as the good King approached to speak to Rama : "It is
a great honour to me after waiting patiently to address you Prince of all Kosalas,
as ni}^ son-in-law and now my dear Prince, let us hasten the joyful wedding
ceremony without further delay." Ramchandra paid his homage to Janaka
and said "Kind Sir, I am most grateful to you for all the honour you have done
me, ma}' I ask you to pardon me that I am unable to accept the offer you have
kindly made me. It is not possible for me to marry without my father's
sanction. Our revered Bishwamitra has brought us here because he is so
proud of my bravery and strength, that he wanted to prove that I am a worthy
pupil of my master, the great Basista Deb. I am here without my father's
knowledge. On becoming acquainted with the circumstances that brought the
Sun-Princes to the swayambara, King Janaka despatched an embassy to Ajodh^^a
to inform King Dasaratha of the glorious result of the swayambara. In the

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meanwhile Sita was awaiting the message from her father to baran the hero
and receive the congratulations of the ladies of the court. The time passed but
brought no satisfaction to her curiosity and wonder silenced the waiting crowd.
At last Sita was informed that Ramchandra was waiting for his father's
permission. She was happy to know that he was hers and she was his. Sita
raised her head, they saw the love light in her eyes, she spoke quietly, saying
that God had heard her prayers, and that all would be well. The Maharani
expressed a wish one day and said — "There are three other brothers and I shall
try and have four weddings together". At this remarks the girls blushed
though they looked happy. It was not long before there were four shy brides-
elect in the palace of Mithila.

At the court of Ajodhya there had been anxiety for Ramchandra. No
news had been received since he set out on bis expedition. The conclusion
arrived at, was that no success was his, and that Ramchandra must have met
his death. Soon this sorrow was changed to joy and gladness — King Janaka's
messenger had arrived with the good news. Dasaratha the great Sun-King
was overjoyed to know that his heir has won so glorious a position, among so
many who had attempted to gain the hand of the Royal Princess. He most
willingly gave his consent to the marriages of his four sons and sent word to
say that he would follow soon with the other two sons.

Such rejoicings and such preparations in the two great kingdoms, none
can imagine. The King sent a great escort of officers, elephants, horses,
chariots, soldiers, sages, wagons laden with gold and gems, raiments for the
brides, and hundreds of servants on his retinue. Bharata and Satrugna
accompanied him. The great party travelled with speed.

On reaching the boundary of Mithila the King was met by his sons, and
the mooni Bishwamitra, and supported by them the happy King Janaka. King
Dasaratha drove to a garden in the city, where the farmer-King Janaka himself
waited to receive him. The meeting of the two venerable monarchs was indeed
an impressive sight. These marriages of the children of the Sun and Moon
Kings were to unite the Kshatriya races of the two peoples. These unions,

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though so romantically brought about, were full of political significance, for it
was the 'Treta' or the Silver age of India.

When Janaka Raj met the great King of Raghuvansa, and saw the other
two Princes, tears of joy filled his eyes, and with clasped hands, he prayed to
the All-merciful. "God" said he "merciful God, thou knowest all. I was
anxious for my beloved Sita's future; but thou hast taken from me all ray
anxiety."

Dasaratha and his retinue, were accommodated in palatial buildings in the
gardens of the city. The marriages were celebrated with great splendour, the
most renowned gums (clergymen) presiding at the ceremony. Lovely Sita
placed her hand in Rama's and vowed herself his for ever. Urmila pledged
herself to Lakshmana, Mandavi to Bharata, and Srutakirty to Satrugna ; thus
the Surya and Chandravansas were united by the sacred bond of marriage.

Then came the parting on the following day. The eyes which had been
lighted with joy, were now filled with sad tears. Mithila was losing her precious
maidens. Never more could they return to Videha. Sadness filled Janaka 's
heart — the bridal raths were in the courtyard, Sita and her sisters had bidden
farewell to all, and Sita knelt at her father's feet to receive his blessing. The
saint-king took Sita's hand in his trembling clasp, and leading her to Ram-
chandra, who stood beside his chariot, placed it in the strong manly palm of
the Prince, saying in a voice broken with the sadness of parting, "Sri Ram-
chandra my son, I have given you my treasure, guard her well and never
forsake her. She is tender and loving, see, my dear son, that the storm of this
world touches not her flower-like life. Cherish her lovingly, and in time you
will understand what you have taken from Mithila." Sita's soul was filled
with sorrow at the parting but when Rama's fingers closed on her hands, her
heart thrilled, as he reverently answered — "Sir, what Mithila to-day loses,
Ajoydhya gains. These tears which thy dear eyes are shedding upon our hands,
are sacred to me and by them, I swear I shall be true to thy daughter. Bless
me, father, that I may be worthy of thy priceless gift". Sita and Rama
touched the saintly Janaka's feet, and entering the chariot drove away. The

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King stood to watch the procession, till he could see them no longer, with a
deep sigh he turned away to the field to plough. His heart was sad, for he
was filled with the idea that Sita would not be happy ; found in the furrows,
born of the earth, as if to suffer.

VII

In the rath sat Sita, by her young husband, beaming with joy. Rama with
his deep and loving voice was filling her heart. Mithila faded fast from her
vision. A dark handsome face, and a pair of love-illumined eyes gazed into
her own making the world a place of sunshine, which was heaven itself for her.

They continued on their journey ; but alas ! Sita did not long enjoy her
happiness. Parashurama who was returning from a pilgrimage, met the
marriage procession, and enquired what it all meant. He was informed that the
eldest son of Dasaratha Maharajah had married the Moon-Princess Sita, and
were on their return journey to the Royal home Ajodhya. "What, broken
my bow !" he shouted angrily. "Where is he ? I shall fight him and if I am
defeated, I shall then know that he has really broken my bow, and therefore
deserves the lovely Sita." King Dasaratha trembled with fear and cried aloud,
"Oh, mighty warrior, I beg of you, I pray, I implore you, spare my son."
Parashurama was a Brahmin, he had taken the diksha (oath) for the Kshatriya,
and Dasaratha knew it well. The war cry was alarming, and poor little Sita,
clung to her lord, and begged him not to leave her. Rama kissing her and
gently disengaging himself from her said, "I must go, after winning you what
do I fear?" Then descending from the rath, Ramchandra faced the Brahmin.
Parashurama had a giant stature, his dress was of skins, and a string of beads
(rudraksha) hung from his right ear, and on his body he wore the number
twenty-one, which signified that in the fulfilment of his diksha, he had killed
twenty -one Kshatriyas. The gleam of his eyes was cast on Rama, and he asked,
"was it you, who dared to break the bow of Parashurama ? Do you think you
are stronger than I?" "How could I?" Rama answered lightly, "when thou
art "Parashurama" and I, the simple "Rama". This jesting still more

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incensed the Brahmin and he shouted tauntingly "Thou hast chosen thy death".
"Cease thy foolish talk" answered Rama "am I not a gallant Kshatriya, and
is fear known to any child of the sun ? I broke thy bow, and it did not need
much strength, since it was old and weak."

"Now since you seem averse from flight, will you string this bow of mine
and discharge an arrow from it?" and the gigantic Brahmin took from off his
shoulder an enormous bow and held it out to Rama, saying, "If you can do this,
I shall consider myself defeated by you, but if your courage fails you, make
an appeal to me and beg your own safety and protection. This will prove that
your fingers have been in vain hardened by the twanging of the bow strings."
For reply the Sun-Prince smiled and stretched out his hand for the profferred
bow. Then with confidence that was apparent, he placed one end of the weapon
in the ground, and bending it, strung it most easily. The scornful sparkle
disappeared from Parashurama's face leaving it livid, and ashen : the fire
which had burnt within him had died out. The whole procession was filled with
awe at this procedure and gazed at the two who were facing each other. Rama
like the Sun with his increased splendour and brilliancy, Parashurama humi-
liated with defeat and dimmed glory. The Sun-Knight was full of compassion
for his vanquished foe. The arrow which had been fixed must be discharged.
Addressing the Brahmin, he said, "Do not fear, I would not bury this in your
heart, instead, I will shoot it into the air, far up into the skies, to bar your
entrance into heaven." "You have merited this b3' your sacrifices" humbly
Parashurama replied, "Be it as thou wilt. I know who thou art, and it was
to see thy power manifested on earth that I provoked thee. I am grateful to
the for sparing my life. ' ' And he fell with his face to the ground, and worshipped
Ramchandra. Ram then stood a little aside to shoot the arrow into the skies,
touching the feet of the Brahmin he said, "Deference to a conquered enemy
leads to glor3^ " "Thou hast indeed blessed me and turned my defeat into
glory," he answered, "the touch of thy hand has freed me from the evil
passion of life. Oh thou divine one, thou hast given me eternal peace. I go
to enjoy everlasting bliss, which thou hast awarded to me," and he disappeared.

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King Dasaratha kissed Rama's forehead saying, "my precious sou,
I thought Parashurama would destroy you, and all of us. God has spared us.
Let us hasten and return to Ajodhya." Sita proudly drew her husband to her
side, and they continued on their journey in peace.

Ramchandra talked of his childhood, his mother and other qvieens in all
which Sita was much interested, for she had already began to feel that whatever
belonged to her husband was dear to her. A longing arose to know every detail ;
to be established in his name.

The towers and battlements of Ajodhj'a were in sight now ; her pulse beat
faster, her heart leaped with joy. The}' were entering the city gates, the
archways were decorated with flowers and palms and mangal-ghots were placed
on both sides of the roads, alternately with banana palms. Flags and mottoes
of welcome were hung from the houses, every window and balcony contained
young and old faces, which were filled with eagerness and curiosity to see the
newly-married brides pass. They were pleasantly surprised at Sita's beauty,
her loveliness filled them with a desire to show their appreciation. Flowers
were thrown in their path, bells rung and the conch shells sounded and there
was much rejoicing amongst the people. Sita was overcome; her eyes were
dim with tears, she rested her hand on Rama's shoulder, she felt she wanted
an assurance from him, that she would truly be welcome to his people. Her
disquieted condition grieved Rama who said, "my wife, are you sad? Why
these tears? Dry your eyes, my Sita and smile and be the sunshine of my
life. You are my life and my love, my beautiful bride, be happy." "My
Lord," she whispered, "I am happy, very happy. Why the tears came
I cannot quite tell ; my only fear is, that perhaps the people of Ajodhya will not
like me ; to me it seems as though a dark shadow hangs over me." "Oh Sita
think not such thoughts, the people will love you and I shall be jealous of them.
He kissed her finger tips lovingly. "I am satisfied" she said "with your love.
I want nothing else, in your company, always I am content. You will never
leave me ? " " Never' ' he said "the days will be too short for me to revel in your
charms" and he drew her closer to him and looked into her eyes, she was fair,

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S1TA4-/4 girl of the Court carried on a golden tray a craum made of flowers to Rama, which he
placed on Sila's head u'ilh great admiration and love.

SITA

he thought very fair and very beautiful, and his deep voice trembled with love
as he murmured, "My queen, my life, my love, my Sita, leave you, never, every
moment away from you would seem like a year. Life without you would be a
living death."

The raths proceeded to the great entrance of the palace, where already was
standing Dasaratha on the steps to welcome and to bless their home coming.
Girls of noble birth were in readiness to receive them, carrying golden gharras
filled with coins. As Rama's chariot approached and entered the palace gate coins
were thrown out of these gharras. These rolled in between their feet and under
the wheels of the chariots and the girls cried out "Long may you live, may you
always walk on gold." Again the conch shells were blown and the trumpets
sounded while Rama and Sita ascended the steps and fell at the feet of the
King to receive his blessing, then followed Bharata and Mandavi and the tivvn
brothers with their wives. The mother Queens, patiently and anxiously were
waiting a little higher up the steps, with their ladies in waiting, to administer
the baran. It was a joyous occasion. When the baran ceremonies were over,
Queen Kausalya drew her son with his bride near to her, making them sit
before her. She spoke with a mother's affection and pride and shed tears of joy.
The unassuming manners of Sita won the queen's heart. She grew to love the
furrow -bom princess as much as she loved her son. Next day was the flower
ceremony, the andar of the palace was filled with mirth for all the ladies of the
court had assembled to dress the bride with flowers. In the centre was a throne
made of flowers on which Sita sat covered with blossoms. The jewels she wore
added to the charms of the scene. She was sprayed with scent and was given
pan (betel leaf) to eat. A garland of fragrant flowers was thrown around her
neck and also one round Rama's which thej' exchanged one with the other.
When this portion of the ceremony was over, a girl of the Court carried on
a golden tray a crown made of flowers to Rama, which he placed on Sita's head
with great admiration and love. In the midst of their rejoicings, Rama's
attention was attracted by drops of blood on Sita's forehead, a large drop being
in the centre, where the spot of sindoor was. He lifted the crown off her head

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to find it contained a big thorn. Alas ! was her crown to be a crown of sorrows !

VIII

Life flowed on in a dream of happiness at the Palace of Ajodhya for Sita
and her sisters. They knew no sorrow or trial. Sita was Rama's whole
existence; her devotion to him gratified his longing, her life was framed in the
letters' of his name. One spirit, one soul was theirs. As the years passed,
the Crown Prince Rama became the right hand of the King, who was growing
old and very weary of the burden of an Empire. He longed to yield his throne
and power to his son, and devote the remaining years of his life to God. So he
called a council and imparted to his ministers and nobles the desire of his heart.
The\' readily consented ; for in those days it was thought right for a man, as he
grew old, to set his affairs in order and retire. Ramchandra heard with deep
regret his father's decision. His soul shrank from the undertaking, and he
feared a position of publicity. The thought of the future filled Rama and Sita
with dread, they could not reconcile themsehes to the idea of becoming King
and Queen. However, it must be done. Destiny had called them, they must
obey. Sita would render all possible help in the discharge of duty, her husband
she knew would shine as Maharajah, and his name would live for ever. The
crowning ceremony was a great festival. Invitations were sent out to all the
Rajahs and Maharajahs of India. Prince Bharata was sent to Persia to
invite his maternal uncle, King Kekoya and Satrughna accompanied him.
Their return was dela3fed and Dasaratha was anxious to have the coronation
over for he was most impatient to see his beloved son Ramchandra crowned soon.

Keykaya, the favourite queen of Dasaratha, had great affection for Ram-
chandra and was delighted at the thought of his succession ; so pleased was she
that she presented all her maids in waiting with gifts. To her favourite maid
Manthara, of whom she was very fond, she wished to give a pearl necklace.
Now this Manthara had come from Persia with Queen Keykaya when a bride.
She was devoted to her mistress and her son Prince Bharata. Manthara was
handsome and clever, but was hunch-backed the result of a fall. The knowledge

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of Rama's approaching succession to the throne had filled her with extreme
jealousy and anger ; she then plotted and schemed for Bharata. The gift of the
necklace had given Manthara the opportunity for which she had cunningly waited.
She received the jewel disdainfully, asking the Queen why she so foolishly
rejoiced at the coronation of Rama. "Why should I not ?" asked the Queen in
her usual simple way. "It is your downfall," answered the mischief-maker,
* 'you have always been the Maharajah 's favourite Queen, now he is abdicating and
making Ramchandra the King. Where will you be then ? Oh poor Queen, is
it right that you should be put away and forgotten, you with all your regal
appearance and high birth, daughter of the King of Persia. Have you not
a son ? In what way is Bharata inferior to Rama that he should not be King ? ' '
At first the Queen would not hear of it, but Manthara was very persistent and
at last succeeded in persuading Kej'kaya to listen to her. The Queen then said,
"Oh Manthara you are the only friend I have in this kingdom, you are the only
one who loves me."

When the ceremonj^ of the adhibash was over, during the interval,
Maharajah Dasaratha sought his favourite wife. He found Keykaya upon the
floor, her jewels strewn about, and her hair in a most disorderly condition.
"Dearest what ails you?" the King said, bending over her prostrated form.
A passion of tears and sobs was Keykaya's only answer, and the awful paroxysms
alarmed the King. He raised her from the floor, endeavouring to calm her,
but with little success. At last, distracted with anxiety, the King shouted for
assistance. The Queen was intenseh' pleased at heart and she knew her hour
had come. She drew herself away from him saj'ing, "Your Majesty, I wish to
go back to my brother." "What," said the King, "are you not happy with
me ?" "I want to go to Persia and to my people. I shall be happier there. "
"Then you do not love me," said the King, "I love you my dear wife. Oh,
my dear Keykaya, has anybody hurt or injured you? Tell me I pray \'0u,
I would give my life for your happiness. " After a good deal of persuasion, she
said, "You have not forgotten, you must remember, how I, some years ago,
nursed you on your bed of sickness. How I helped you in your time of trouble

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then vou were much pleased with me and offered me two boons, and now to-day
I want them. I claim them." "They are yours beloved," said the King,
"speak and I shall listen." Then the Queen in a calm and quiet voice spoke
the most cruel words her husband had ever heard. It deafened him when she
said"! want my son to be crowned King and Ramchandra to be banished to the
forests for fourteen years." Did he hear a-right ? was he in a delirium? was
he going mad? Crown Bharata and banish Ramchandra. His head became
dizzy, his feet tottered, but it was all too true. Queen Keykaya repeated her
demand again and again, till it was impossible for Dasaratha not to realise the
meaning of her words. The King cried out, "I don't know what you are
saying." She again repeated that her son should be crowned. The King
pleaded with her, besought her to ask for any other thing in the kingdom, but
nothing was of any avail. She was hard and relentless. The King swooned
with exhaustion and grief, but she persisted in her claim. It was now the last
hour of the evening, the hour of sun-set; the temples, palaces, turrets and
minarets of Ajodhya were standing out against the purple sky. The town was
to be illuminated with myriads of oil lamps for the rajyabhishek or crowning
ceremony of Ramchandra. The courtiers awaited the arrival of the self-
abdicating king in durbar and when the hour arrived, and he was still absent
from the durbar, they grew anxious and Ramchandra went himself to discover
the cause of the delay. Rama lost no time in gaining admittance to his father.
Dasaratha lay on the floor, a picture of abject distress and grief, the Maharani
sat sullenly by his side. When the king saw his son entering the room he cried
out in a tone of acute suffering, "Rama, my son Rama, do not leave me, do not
leave me." The Prince was very much alarmed with his father's changed
appearance. He stood in silence for what might follow. Not another word
escaped the father's lips, and the silence was broken at intervals by deep sighs
and low groans ; oh, that his father would speak. Time passed and there seemed
no end to the suspense. At last Rama broke the silence, "Father, tell me what
ails thee ? What is thy sorrow ?" Still no reply, no movement even, the king
lay like one in death. Exasperated with anxiety, Rama turned to the queen,

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"What is it that troubles my father? Mother tell me pray." The queen was
perfectly aware of Rama's love for his father and in obedience to his wishes
said, "The Maharajah is in despair and is too sad to tell you." "Don't heed
what she says, she is a wicked woman," the King shouted. The Prince knelt
beside the form of the king assuring him of his unfailing devotion and obedience,
but the king's grief was augmented instead of being appeased, and he started
out in a frenzy crying aloud, "Oh, the wicked woman, the wicked woman."
Ramchandra could bear it no longer, he urged the queen to speak, and she did,
with a hard cold expression, half of defeat and half of triumph as the king's
whole frame shook. "Years ago" she said, "I saved your father's life.
He promised me two favours and I now claim them. I claim that my .'=on
Bharata be crowned and you are to be in exile in the forests for fourteen years.
The King loves you too well, he cannot speak as he should, but I have spoken
for him. " "Is that it, mother ? I shall be happy to see my dear brother Bharata
on the throne." Keykaya dreaded she knew not what — "There is no need for
you to wait to see Bharata on the throne," she said, "you should go into the
forest at once." Dasaratha begged Rama not to listen to her, not to go, "she
is a wicked woman" he said "don't go, don't leave me, the parting will kill me,
I shall never see you again. Oh, my son, my son, what will the world say ? that
I have been led by a woman, a wicked woman, that I have exiled my heir, that
I have disgraced the Raghuvansa ." In a pathetic voice Rama replied, falling
at his most respected and aged father's feet : "I worship God in Heaven and
I worship you on earth, your loving hand has guided me all these years in the
paths of truth ; I shall not be an obstacle to your keeping your word, dear father,
let me go, it will be well, father ; give me your consent to go — Bless me — your
blessing will strengthen me and will guide me." But Dasaratha Mould not do
so, and only murmured, "Rama, Rama, my son."

IX

Ramchandra was much concerned as to how he should break the news to his
own mother and wife — both much he loved. Kausalj^a Debi was still in her

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shibalaya (sanctuary) praying to Shiva for his blessing upon her son. Rama
called out to her, she recognised his voice. The room was full of various
offerings, such as money, jewellery, flowers, fruit and sweets, and incense was
burning. Rama gazed at it all for a while. The Queen looked wonderfully
happy. Ramchandra touched her feet, the mother lovingly lifted her son and
kissed his forehead affectionately. "I have come to you dear mother" Ram-
chandra said, "for you to bless me." "All my blessings are with you, my
child" she replied, "may Shiva, our God, with his devas, shower you with his
richest and choicest blessings long may you live and long ma_v you reign."
Ramchandra could contain himself no longer. He recalled all that happened
between his father and step-mother. Queen Keykaya. Poor Queen Kausalya
fainted and fell to the ground. When she came to her senses, she wept bitterly.
She would not remain in the Palace either, she would go with his son, without
him she wanted no kingdom, no position. Kausalya would go to the jungle with
Rama and Sita and live there in much more happiness than in the Palace without
her children. She argued the subject with herself and with her son, but Rama
was steadfast. "What is life without honour" he said "I shall go and thus
fulfil my father's promise." The Queen was disconsolate, what could she say
to prevent him? At last she said, "Rama, my son, as your mother 1 forbid
you to go to the forest. " The Prince answered quietly, "It is my duty, mother,
I am under obedience to my father and came here to say goodbye to you, and
ask you for your blessings, dear mother, that I may prove a worthy son to my
father. The best of mothers you have been. All my life I have heard you
say, you wished me to be a good son to my father. This is the time when you,
dear mother, should help me to prove your wishes. ' ' Then the mother answered
indignantly, "A man who is under a woman's influence, his words are of no
importance. ' ' Then the son knelt down and said, "Mother, your tender love for
your son is making you say all this. Forgive me, but I nmst do my duty to my
father and return after fourteen years, you will be more proud of your son then. "
Rama touching his mother's feet once more said goodbye "The fourteen years
will soon pass dear and best of mothers and you will see me again." Kausalya

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bowed to the inevitable, with a heavy heart and blessed her son. Now what
had to be done, that, troubled Rama most — he must tell his wife, but how was
he to do it ? He turned his steps to his own Palace. He was filled with anxious
thoughts, his courage was almost failing him — not for himself, but for his wife.
On entering her room he found her in readiness for him, dressed in her richly
embroidered robes, which his mother had got ready for the occasion. Her face
flushed with pleasure at her husband's entrance, she held out her hands to him
and said "What is the cause of this delay beloved ?" and he took her in his arms.
Sita listened to all he said, fully understanding and entering into his feeling as to
his duty, quite oblivious as he was to the loss of the throne and state. When he
spoke of farewell to her, she would not listen. "I married you, mj'^ Prince, for
yourself alone and nothing shall ever come between us." With tenderest
caresses Rama answered that jungle life would be full of hardships and she could
never accompany him. "Beloved, when mother Keykaya told me of my father's
promise and of her wishes, I saw what my future would be, but my Sita, that
will in no way constrain you. Ever since your childhood j-ou have lived in,
and been surrounded by luxury. My sweet wife, it will not be possible for vou
to live a forest life." "My Lord" said the Princess softly, and looked up into
his face, her eyes full of tears. Rama looked into them, his own reflection was
there, for Sita's heart was full of Rama. "I implore you" whispered Sita,
"take me with you." "My dear one, my task is difficult enough, I must go
alone to live like a hermit. Be patient and wait for me. " Sita listened to it all,
and she fell at his feet "My master. My Lord," she said, "I shall go, nothing
can stop me, else I would die. In the forest you will be a hermit, I shall be your
follower, you will be a ruler, I shall be your subject, you will be the master,
and I shall be your servant." Rama was deeply touched, his heart was filled
with pride and lifting her up, he caught her in his arms and asked "Am I worth v
of such love." Sita clung to him "Without you" she said "I would not live
in heaven. Deserted bj' you, I should cease to breathe. With you I shall fear
no weariness, know no hardships, I shall follow wherever j'ou go, as Savitri
followed Death for her Satyaban, so I shall follow you. Say me nay no longer;

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let me come with you, and we shall spend the fourteen years happily together."
Rama could not withstand such love. She was the crown of his life and as he
kissed her he reverenced and loved her more than ever and thanked God for his
treasure. Leaving Sita for a while he went to his brother Lakshmana to say
goodbye. Lakshmana, too, wished to accompany him, saying "I shall go with
you and serve you both." Rama was unwilling to permit this ; but Lakshmana
insisted. Manthara, the hunch-back had lost no time in spreading the news
of Rama's banishment. Disappointment and grief filled every heart. When
Keykaya saw Rama, with his wife and brother about to set out for the forest, her
heart leapt with triumph at her success. The Crown Prince still wore his
coronation robes and Sita stood by his side apparelled as his consort. "Rama
and Sita" she said scornfully "you should dress as hermits, not in such grand
robes. ' ' ' 'Certainly mother, you are right, will you order some hermit's garments
for us?" Rama answered brightly. All wondered at his cheerful demeanour.
The people of Ajodhya wept for the unjust treatment Rama had suffered. He,
their good true and brave prince who had brought so much light to their kingdom.
Before long Queen Keykaya ordered three sets of balkal (bark of a tree) to be
brought ; and giving one to each brother, she approached Sita with one also.
At this King Dasaratha shouted out in a voice full of wrath, "Touch not the
daughter of Raghubar, she shall go from my house dressed as daughter of this
state. Keykaya trembled and let the balkal drop to the floor. In hermit's
garb Rama knelt before his father and said, "Sire, our ancestors have all been
good rulers and you have instilled in me that king's duty is the welfare of his
subjects. Bless me now and let me go. Pray that I should be given the
strength to walk in the ways of virtue. Grieve not for me." In a dejected
voice the King cried, "Rama, Rama, my son, I shall never see you again", and
sobbed his heart out. Sita, beautiful as a dream in her bridal robes, had knelt
beside her husband with Lakshmana and received the blessings from the king.
Queen Kausalya stricken with her sorrow, wished them farewell, she embraced
Sita and blessed her, "May the Gods of the Suryavansa reward you for your
fidelity to my son. You are one amongst thousands of women. I bless you my

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daughter, and I pray that you will ever be true and follow \-our husband with
the same devotion always. " Sita touched the grie\-ing queen's feet and replied,
"Fear not, my mother, I shall not fail. My husband is m\' God. Believe me
that I shall give my life for him and for his happiness." The crowd was great
in Ajodhya. The young, the old, the rich, and the poor, men and women, were
all out to see their Ramchandra and Sita. When the state chariot drove up to
the entrance, they cried to see their Prince depart from amongst them. Rama
too was pale. He spoke encouragingly to them ; and quickly, for he wished to
close the scene. He lifted Sita into the chariot and the}- drove away ; Lakshmana
seated beside the driver. The crowd followed, some keeping pace with the
spirited horses, while others begged the charioteer to drive slowly. Cries of
regret followed the chariot as the wheels rolled along. At the ri^er Tamasa,
Ramchandra decided to halt for the night. The crowd had kept pace with the
chariot and refused to return to the cit\-. Soon all slept, save Ramchandra,
whose soul felt for his subjects and their distress. At the first streak of dawn
he awakened his wife and brother and said to them, "Let us take our departure
before these poor p>eople awake. It is cruel to prolong their grief." Silentlv
they arranged their going and started off ; and b\' svmrise they had crossed the
river Gumti, which is the southern boundan,- of Kosala. Evening found them
on the north bank of the Ganges near Prayaga. Ajodhva was now well behind.
Rama accordingly said goodbye to the driver Sumantra, who fell at Rama's feet
and cried. Rama spoke kindly and sent many messages to his parents. The
driver was told to drive the emptj- carriage to Ajodh^-a ; while the ro\-al group
walked on, his e3-es were fixed on them, his thoughts full of sadness. The chief
of the place Guhaka Chandal, lent a boat for Rama and his party to cross the
river at the confluence of the Ganges and Jumna. There the great saint Agastva
welcomed them and would have gladly received the royal hermits as his perma-
nent guests, but Rama feared that if he remained at Prayaga, the people of
Ajodhya would be continually \-isiting him. So Agastva told him that the hill
of Chitrakuta was about twenty miles or more away, in a deep forest, where
Rama could live happily. Rama decided to go there, and earh' next morning

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S/7">!V

the royal exiles crossed the Jumna. The hills of Chitrakuta are a continuation
of the Vindya mountains and the name means "Peak of beauty"; and well it
desen'es the name. They reached Chitrakuta. It was a lovely spot, peaceful
and quiet. Ramchandra would have failed in loyalty to his king had he stayed
near enough to Ajodhya as to permit visits from the people. Sita's liking of
this forest was as great as Rama's and Lakshmana agreed to everything that
Rama wished. So the party prepared to make Chitrakuta their resting place
and they soon built a little hut of branches and leaves.

Now in Ajodhya all was sorrow, deep sorrow. After parting with his
beloved son and heir. King Dasaratha was overwhelmed with grief and died.
The good queens did all they could putting aside their own grief but to no
avail. Once or twice he spoke of Rama, spoke of his great sorrow, that of
dying without seeing his boy. His grief was intense, and with his son's name
on his lips he died. Terrible was the grief in the Palace when King Dasaratha 's
soul took its flight from this world, and more sad was the nation when on such an
occasion, no son was there to perform the last rites of consigning the body to the
purifying flames. A few days after the death of the King, the Princes, Bharata
and Satrugna, returned from Persia. Unconscious of the happenings at the
court of Kosala, and of the bereavement which had befallen them, they
observed as they rode through the city, that the gloom of mourning overshadowed
it. What could have happened? They wondered. Bharata soon arrived at
the Palace where the same mysterious silence reigned. He marvelled at it,
hurrying along to his mother's apartment he enquired after touching her feet
into the cause of this unusual calm and the dreadful silence in Ajodhya. Was
the nation in sorrow ? He begged to be told immediately. His mother told
him of his father's death, and the news was most unexpected and unwelcome and
he stood motionless for a time. Then she informed him of his own succession
to the throne of the Suryavansa.

"The Maharajah" cried Bharata in horror "where is my brother Ram-

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chaiida? Has he gone?" "Yes gone to the forest" she replied exultingly,
and then with many words of praise for Monthara, to whom she gave all the
credit, she related the manner in which she had secured the throne for him.
Bharata looked furious at this. When he understood the wicked motive of his
mother, lie drew his sword from its case and wanted to kill her, when Satrugna
rushed up to him and said "Brother, have you forgotten who you are — the son
of King Dasaratha ? Your mother is always your mother, whether kind or un-
kind . You are Keykaya's son. Do not stain your sword or your hand with the
blood of your own mother, who bore you. ' ' Bharata looked at his brother, whom
he loved dearly and said, "Satrugna, I feel ashamed of myself for being the
son of such a mother. Why did I not leave the world before this happened ?
Our beloved brother Ramchandra is exiled because of me. Were I dead?"
Then again in a rage he said, "I shall not kill my mother, but I shall kill that
woman Monthara, who is the cause of all this trouble." Bharata's sympathy
was with queen Kausal3'^a and to her he hastened, to comfort and assure her of
his unfailing lo\^alty to Rama, who, he maintained was the lawful heir and
King. The noble Kausalya wept with the brothers. Their grief was great,
the banishment of Rama and the death of their father were cruel blows. The
queen mourned ; she keenly felt the whole position. The throne stood empty
and her lord lying dead. Bharata used every effort to console mother Kausalya.
"We cannot bring back our dear departed father, but we must do our sacred
duty to the body of our father, whom we loved and then we shall try and bring
back our Rama."

Bharata's determination was a great disappointment to his own mother.
She stove her utmost to overrule his decision, but he spurned her, saying, "I
cannot look upon you as my mother any longer. A woman who uses cruel means
to attain her object, I cast aside. You have killed my father and exiled my
innocent brother. I know you no longer."

His face was filled with shame and indignation ; he suffered accutely.
Kausalya felt for Bharata as much as she did for Rama, perhaps more, for her
son had gone out in cheerful obedience to his exile, while Bharata was bearing

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the results of his mother's disgraceful conduct. In the absence of the eldest son,
Bharata performed the cremation rites of his father. When the sad ceremony-
was over he convened a royal council, taking his seat at the foot of the steps of
the throne. He informed the durbar that it was his intention to seek his brother
Rama, acquaint him of their father's death and impress upon him that the throne
awaited him. The times were threatening and a kingdom without a ruler would
be in a perilous condition. Bharata scorned the advice, and said he never could
take Rama's place. It was his duty to try to find his brother and to bring him
back to Ajodhya. Bharata 's decision was welcomed and he started for the forests
with a large military equipage. Queen Kausalya, Prince Satrugna and several
of the high officials, accompanied him and helped him to carry out his plan.

Lakshraana discovered the great military equipage advancing towards
Chitrakuta, and felt fearful of Rama's safety; thinking that they were not
satisfied with his banishment and now wanted his blood. He made his doubts
and fears known to Rama, who answered him with the greatest confidence. He
knew very well that Bharata was not capable of any treachery. "Rama" said
Bharata leaving his rath and coming towards him "my brother, my brother".

Rama received him with open arms and lifting him up asked, "my father,
how is he?" Every detail of the monarch's death was told to Rama. He
listened attentively with his heart breaking with grief. He knew the loss his
mother had sustained, he knew the bitterness of the whole of the people of
Ajodhya. His brother implored him to return and complete the coronation.
Every argument and entreaty was made but had no effect. Rama remained
inflexible and in answer to all their pleadings said "Dear brother, my affection
for you will always be the same, but I regret that I cannot comply with 3'our
wishes and Bharata you must help me. I only know the law of obedience as
my guide. Crowns and kingdoms are but floating straws on the ocean of life.
Duty alone is firm and everlasting. Do not forget, I must help and fulfil my
father's promise. Surely his death as a victim and his promise is an influence
over my life. Go back, my brother, I know you will rule well in the place of
the great Dasaratha. You are the worthy son of our dear father and doubtless

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a fit monarch for Ajodhya. The subjects of Ajodhya will be happy under your
rule, as happy as they were in the days of our father. I must do my duty."
Bharata felt his helplessness. Rama was steadfast. Bharata kneeling before
his brother with clasped hands bid him goodbye and Rama said "Bharata, dear
brother, remember, this is sacred duty to me to be in the jungle. I came out
to fulfil father's promise. Fourteen years will pass and we shall meet again.
As you know Bharata, we are four brothers, but four in one. I shall do my
duty in the jungle-life to our father. You serve the subjects and do your duty,
thus to our father. We are united in soul and shall always be near each other.
Then he kissed Bharata 's forehead and said goodbye and Sita shed many a tear
and said farewell. Bharata and the Royal party returned to Ajodhya, he pro-
claimed that he ruled only as a Regent, and always sat on the lowest step of the
throne. Building himself a hut outside the city walls, he lived the life of an
anchorite, dressing in balkal and eating wild fruits. Lakshmana had vowed to
serve Rama so Satrugna vowed to serve Bharata. The Princesses Mandavi and
Srutakirti joined their husbands in their lives of austerity, Urmilla lived a life of
penance within the palace walls, serving the Queen-mothers. Their saintly lives
still shine as examples to the dwellers of Bharatbarsa. How perfectly those
days of forest-life passed for Sita.

XI

The royal hermits proceeded further south making friends with others who
dwelt in the same way. In the course of their travels they came to a hermitage
of a great sage named Atri, whose wife was much pleased with Sita and her
beauty. She made Sita many handsome gifts of jewellery. Agastya, another
forest sage, presented Rama with a bow of exquisite workmanship and a quiver
of needle-pointed arrows and also gave him a two-aged sword.

"Take these" he said, "and if you are in need of them, they will help you."
Very shortly they reached the banks of the Godavari where Rama built a hut in
the wooded space of Panchabati where the}' lived for years; the sorroundings
were fair and appealed to the royal exiles ; Sita loved this spot. To watch the

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dancing ripples of the river enchanted her, the balm of the evening breeze solaced
her, the rays of the setting sun illumined her evening prayers. The memory of
her perfect life still remains all over Bharata's land. The Sister of Ravana,
named Surpanakha, was attracted by the handsome Rama and tried to tempt
him with her beauty. Rama showed her his wife who was seated close by and
said "How can I marry you for I am already married. Here is my wife. But
there is my brother, go and ask him to marry you." Then Surpanakha began
to talk of her love to Lakshmana who draw his arrow, stricking her nose off her
face. Surpanakha after being insulted by Lakshmana went straight to Lanka
and told her brother of the beauty of Sita. Ravana then hastened to Panchabati
where Ramchandra dwelt. He sent the powerful Maricha of Lanka disguised
as a golden deer. Maricha wished to avenge himself on Rama for the death of
his mother the Taraka. Ravana dressed himself as a Yogi. One afternoon when
Rama and Sita were sitting in the shade of a tree facing the forest, before them a
golden deer rushed past. Sita animated with a desire to possess the skin of it,
mentioned this to Rama, who straightaway took his bow and arrow, and leaving
Sita with Lakshmana, gave instructions that she was not to be left unattended
for a moment. He then went after the animal and Sita watched Rama disappear
and then went back to her hut. The Rakshasas were very troublesome, hence
Rama's instructions as to Sita's care. Lakshmana was on guard outside the
hut. He had only been gone a few minutes when they heard Rama calling,
"Lakshmana, come and save me."

Sita grew pale with anxiety and stepping forward told Lakshmana to rush
to Rama's help. He would not stir from his post, saying that he must obey
the orders given to him by Rama. Another cry and then another, yet
Lakshmana would not move. His brother could never be defeated, he argued.
Another heart-rending cry was heard, "I am dying Lakshmana, I am dying."
Even at this crj' Lakshmana's expression did not change. Sita, exasperated
accused her brother-in-law of disloyalty to her husband and a disregard to her
wish. She said scornfully, "I know what your motive is, Lakshmana. I know
why you came out to the jungle with us, Sumitra Devi should be ashamed of

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her son, one brother has taken the kingdom awa3'' from my lord and 3-011 are
anxious to take his wife away from him. Now I know all and if you do not go
and rescue my husband, I shall go myself. You can stay here in the empty hut,
and do as you like. Lakshmana, little I knew that your words were of malice
and your mind so full of poison;" and many other harsh and cruel words she
spoke. This was the only time when Sita uttered any unkind words.

On hearing this Lakshmana lifted up his bow and said "Mother, I should
not have listened to all these cruel words you have spoken to-day. I have great
reverence for you ever since you became the wife of Sri Ramchandra, whom
I love and adore ; moreover he is my God, and he is all that I hold dear. Your
words have pierced me through my heart and it is for that reason I am doing
what you have bid me to do. But remember Sita Devi that it is the first time
in my life that I have disobeyed my lord, my master Ramchandra. ' ' Lakshmana
was so intensely disquieted that he decided to leave Sita to her own devices, yet
considering that her safety was at stake he hesitated. Before he left her he warned
her of her dangerous position and asked her not to step across the seven lines he
had encircled her hut with. It was not long before Sita realised her loneliness.
She felt and desired to call her brother back, but she found that he had gone.
Sitting down on the grass she pondered, her mind running in many directions,
resulting in a confusion of thoughts. She was not long alone, being disturbed
and startled by the presence of an old Yogi standing at a little distance under
a tree his gaze fixed on her. She was prompted to speak to him and coming
forward she said, "Are you hungry ?" "Very hungry" he replied, "kind lady
give me something to eat." "My husband will be back soon," she said. "No"
he said "I cannot wait. I am starving. If you cannot satisfy my hunger
I shall seek food elsewhere, then the curse will fall on your head."

Feeling alarmed at the Yogi's speech, she went and found some fruits, which
she offered to him. He begged her to bring it to him as his strength was fast
failing him for he was aware of the seven circles drawn about her hut by
Lakshmana and the safety they afforded her if not overstepped. Sita thought-
lessly carried him the fruit. He extended his hand to receive it, he grasped

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her and putting his strong arm about her and lifting her ran off with her in his
chariot which was waiting a little distance away. She struggled with fear and
grief and begged again and again to be set free. The chariot was now m flight.
It rose hundreds of feet up in the air, travelling at a great pace. Sita denuded
herself of her jewels, flinging them away from her. Her mind was bewildered.
She knew nothing but abject misery. After a while the chariot descended like
a huge bird and rested in the palace grounds of Lanka. Ravana begged of Sita to
marry him but she resented and said many a threatening word, saying, "When
Rama would find her whereabouts Ravana would be killed." Sita was taken to
the Asoka gardens and given in charge of two stalwart Rakshasi slaves. They
punished her and beat her, but Sita was true to her husband, she knew no body
but Rama.

In the meanwhile, Rama had killed the disguised deer, who was Maricha and
was returning home when he met Lakshmana. He was naturally surprised and
addressing his brother asked the reason of his departure from the hut and from
Sita. Rama was told everything. He fell on his face and wept. He knew
that some evil had befallen his wife. He regretted he had ever gone in chase of
the deer and Lakshmana repented too of having left the hut and its surroundings.
They hurried home and on their arrival Ramchandra found the hut empty.
Both brothers searched the jungle high and low but no trace of Sita could be
found. Rama was bewildered with grief and cried aloud "Sita, Sita, where have
vou gone ? I left all those dear to me in Ajodhya but never felt sad for one
moment because Sita you were with me. How could I return to Ajodhya
without you, and what shall I say to Janak Raj when he asks 'what have you done
with my daughter Sita ?' I want no kingdom, no throne, I want you Sita, come
back, for we shall live in this hut, in this Panchabati ban till the end of our days. "
It was the first time Lakshmana had seen Ramchandra weep. There were no
words to console him, so Lakshmana kept silent. Ramchandra's lamentations
filled the forest. The clouds gathered making the forest dark and the birds
ceased to sing, Sita's pet animals came near the hut and looked sad. The two
brothers after a thorough search in the neighbouring forests journeyed down to

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the South. In the middle of the journey they discovered some of Sita's
ornaments and they were recognised at once as being Sita's, further on more
ornaments were found. An enormous eagle had attacked the chariot. Rama now
became acquainted with the flight and all its details, and determined to rescue
his beloved wife. Many of the hill tribes which he met as he journeyed South
offered him their assistance and pledged themselves in alliance with him against
the dominating Ravana. Thus a mighty host surged onward to defeat and
destroy the Rakshasa. Sugriv, brother of Bali, King of Kiskindha, a state
in the Nilgiris along the coast of Bay of Bengal vowed vengeance, and joined
Rama. In gratitude of this self -elected help, Rama offered to recompense him
in any way he desired. "Help me" Sugriv said, "to attain the throne. I must
be king, my brother is the hinderance. Let us slay him." So they fought
and Bali was killed. When Bali was dying he said to Rama "why did you not,
Oh Ramchandra, tell me that it was only for Ravana you were friendly with
Sugriv. I have defeated the monarch of Lanka several times." Bali's wife
cursed Rama saying, "you have made me a widow, in order to find your wife.
Ramchandra, you will find her but be happy for a short time and my curse will
be on you that you may have the great suffering of parting which you have
caused me." Sugriv the king, with his army joined Rama and his host and
advanced in the direction of Lanka. A great devotee Hanuman was amongst
■ them. He set fire to the island before he left. Rama awaited this spy's return
to his camp eager to get some news, for he saw the flames of Lanka rising against
the evening sky and felt anxious. His praise and thanks were profuse to him
and they planned the bridging of the sea and led their troops. Mercilessly they
fought day after day, victory deserted the sons of Ravana, the mighty city of
Lanka became a house of mourning. Sita knew all and grieved for the many
gallant lives that were being lost, striving and comforting the bereaved wives
and mothers. Her anxiety was ten-fold; she had heard that Ramchandra was
among the wounded, but this was a groundless suspicion for he was alive and
unhurt. Sita's joy at this news invigorated her with new life. It was Dashmani
who had brought her the glad tidings and she loved her for it.

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"I am your friend" said Sarama, wife of Bibhisan, holding up a finger to
warn her, and whispered low, "my husband Bibhisan, though Ravana Maha-
rajah's brother, has pledged himself to Rama and works for thy lord." The
friendship between Sita and Sarama daily grew. Saiama admired Sita and often
took much pleasure in staining the fair hands and dainty feet with henna and
painted sindoor on the fair forehead. She wondered at the want of personal
ornaments too, not a single jewel did Sita wear. How is this ? She asked one
day "Surely Ravana did not rob you of your jewels?" "No" replied Sita,
"when I was cruelly captured I wished to leave some trace of myself along the
country over which I was taken, so I dropped my jewels one at a time from the
chariot." "Is it true Ramchandra was exiled for no fault of his?" asked
Sarama. "Yes," said Sita and related the whole story never reproaching any-
bodj', so that Sarama marvelled.

' ' How did 3'ou live in the forest ? ' ' she further questioned . ' ' Most happily ;
my lord and his brother built a small hut in the woods of Panchabati (five big
banian trees)." For a while memory with all its sweetness held her, and a wave
of longing for his presence consumed her. ' 'Tell me some more, ' ' urged Sarama
gently, understanding why the eyes of the Princess were wet with tears.

"What did Prince Lakshmana do?" enquired Sarama.

"He? he is the dearest brother I could have. He searched the forest for
fruit for us and accompanied my Rama wherever he went, while I stayed at home
and prepared meals . " " Were you ever lonely ? ' ' "Never I was too happy to be
lonely. My lord was there, he loved the forest life and so did I. My happiness
was complete, to serve my master was all that I wished. ' ' "Did you never regret
the loss of your comforts and luxuries, and your grand Palace in Ajodhya?"
"No, not for one moment, I loved the forest existence with its many variations.
But tell me Sarama, how goes the battle to-day ?" "Dashmani keeps me a close
prisoner, I know very little of what is taking place. Ravana sent for his son
the great Indrajit, he arrived last evening, " said Sarama "and he has challenged
Prince Rama to single combat to-morrow." Sita fixed her eyes on Sarama,
looking very anxious. "Will you come to me early to-morrow and tell me the

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result of the encounter ?" Sita asked Sarama. "I will," she replied, and touch-
ing the feet of the captive Princess, she left her. On the morrow Sita was told
of the triumphant procession of Promila into the golden city, Lanka, and also
how Ramchandra had permitted it. Sita knew that Ramchandra would always
be kind to all as his was a grand character. The war filled Sita with an acute
depression. "When will it end ?" she would say to herself "And I am the cause
of all the misery." Was her lord fighting Indrajit, she wondered. Just then
Sarama entered and Sita and Sarama discussed the battle of the da^' and Sarama
told Sita that Indrajit would never fight again as he was killed by Lakshmana.
Sita wept for the beautiful Promila, Sarama cried also and said in a sad voice,
Promila accompanies her lord through the flaming fires and Mandodari carries
a face of death. "Why was I ever born?" cried Sita. "I take misfortune
wherever I go, I seem to be the cause of my husband's exile deprived of his right-
ful inheritance and banished from his own kingdom Oh ! Why was I ever
born ?" "Dear Princess, weep not," said Sarama, "Our lives are pre-ordained
by the great Law and we have to tread in the paths which are destined for us.
Turn your thoughts from your sadness, look into the bright future ; it is very
hopeful, the day of Ram's victory will surely dawn, and then think of the
re-union. There must be war and there will be peace; it has been thus from
the beginning of time."

After the truce for Indrajit 's obsequies, for one whole week the golden city
mourned and no one touched their weapons or went near the battle field. After
the week was over, Ravana's determination to avenge himself grew stronger.
Seeking an opportunity, he struck Lakshmana to the earth with his mighty
arrow and then fled with his forces. Ramchandra having ascertained that his
brother was only wounded and not dead decided to follow the foe with a view to
annihilation. This retreat was only strategy. Rama was met with fresh forces and
a desperate battle followed. At last Ravana fell, with the arrow of Ramchandra
buried in his heart. The shouts of victory reached Sita and her heart beat fast
hoping to see her lord, when suddenly the piercing wails of the heart-broken
queen of Lanka thrilled Sita and frightened her. Glory to Rama, he had won

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the battle. The strife and struggle were o\-er. Sita was within easy reach,
soon the term of his exile would be over and he would return to his dear country.
Ramchandra sent Hanuman to Sita with a message of his victory but ne\er said
a word of her coming back to him. Lakshmana's anxiety to regain Sita, knew
no restraint. He enquired of Rama when Sita would be brought away from the
Palace of Ravana. The reply he got from Rama steeped in indifference and
apathy, roused his curiosity indignation Lakshmana said to Rama, "After all
these months of suffering and of fighting, in which you have killed so many
brave soldiers and destroyed the dynasty of Ravana, that 3-ou should behave
towards Sita Devi like this, I should have thought your first care would have
been Sita's return." "Brother" said Rama, "it will be necessar}' to free Sita's
name from all future reproach, I shall arrange for Bibhisan to escort her here
in state."

Sita looked the picture of happiness and Sarama brought a gold box contain-
ing priceless jewels and begged Sita to allow her, for the first and last time
to touch her and dress her. "Sarama," said Sita, affectionately, "You have
been the only hope and joy during my stay here in the Asokaban. I bless you,
Sarama, may you be happy all your life." Sarama touched her feet and cried
out. "Devi, do not forget me. That is my only prayer to you. " As Sita was
carried through the streets of Lanka sad cries of woe reached her. "You have
made this a land of mourning and for you we have lost our sons and husbands.
Oh, you wretched woman, your days of happiness have come, but we curse you
and pra}' that you may not enjoy that happiness long. ' ' At this Sita trembled,
she felt that some evil omen was awaiting her. When the palanquin reached
the entrance of Rama's camp, Sita was unnerved with the reproaches of the
women of Lanka and was hardly able to contain herself. Lakshmana approached,
and helped her out. Before her stood Rama; in spite of the many eyes which
gazed at her, the impulse to throw herself in wifely homage before him was
intense. Rama stayed her. Sita's eyes were resting on the dark handsome
face so dear to her, but Rama would not look at her. He stood with his head
bowed and his eyes cast down, those were moments of anguish, her life seemed

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suspended, the cold grip of doubt clenched her heart; she longed to see her
husband raise his eyes to hers, she longed to know his thoughts, but this was
denied her. In this terrible hour, Rama steeled his heart, for his love for her
honour was such that he resolved that all suffering should count as nought, so
that she, nearest and dearest to him should be proved pure and true. He knew
Sita would stand the test, but would she understand the reason ? The terrible
dread that she might resent his apparent doubt was agonizing to his soul ; but
he must risk it for her sake. The ordeal must be gone through thoroughly. He
carefully kept his ej^es fixed sternly upon the ground and he addressed Sita,
"You have been a prisoner in Ravana's Palace all these months, Sita, my wife,
I have done my duty as your husband to rescue 3"ou and give you freedom, but
my duty to my State comes first. How am I to know that you are still true to me,
Sita choose where you will dwell and whom 3-011 would like to address as your
husband. The throng were horrified for the beautiful Queen. Sita stood
stabbed to the heart . Was this her own former Rama ? Was it the same Rama ?
Had she lived through the sufferings of her captivity for this ? Had the lives
of hundreds of heroes lost for her humiliation and disgrace ? Tears poured
down her face, but she raised her head proudly and said in a voice clear and
distinct, "Brother Lakshmana ever ready to obey, make a agni-kundoo (funeral
pyre). It is the only respite from the misfortune that has befallen me."
Lakhsmana turned in anger and indignation to Rama, but the latter met his
eyes and quietly' signed him to obey Sita and to make the pyre. Mournfulh'
the order was given for the wood, and soon the pile was erected and set ablaze.
Rama stood with a face of death like pallor, none dared to speak. Sita walked
slowly seven times round her husband and worshipped his feet, and facing the'
crowd she said, "If my love for my husband is true and stainless, if m\' virtue
is untouched, then even fire cannot touch me." Walking to the funeral pile,
she folded her hands in prayer and addressed it, "Oh fire, witness of all the world,
receive me, the flames protect me whose life has ever been true and pure." Sita
jumped in, the pile of burning wood crashed and fell, the flames and smoke
enveloped her. Cries of horror and lamentation ascended. The scene was an

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appalling one. Rama was overcome with grief and cried out, "Sita, Sita,
pardon, forgive me. Never shall I try your chastity again. For you, and for
you alone I came here and fought Ravana. Do not leave me, do not go."
Gradually the smoke abated and a soft strain of music was heard. In the heart
of the flames stood Sita beside Agni (the God of fire). The fire went out and
Sita came forward unhurt by the flame. Ramchandra was most happy to see Sita
and with clasped hands asked her to forgive him. Sita bowed and kneeling
touched his feet in reverence. Rama stood abashed. Raising her to his side,
he spoke in strong voice, "My Queen is chaste ; the fire has proved it. " Voices
from above were heard, "Ramchandra, Sita's love for you is pure and true."
The fourteen years of exile was over.

Rama put Bibhisan on the throne of Lanka and said goodbye to Sugriv
and all his other friends and thanked them for the great help he had received
from them all, except Hanuman who accompanied him. He left his other
friends in Lanka, saying farewell with many sad words, and left for his kingdom.
Using the car in which his wife had been carried by Ravana, he sped onward.
Sita sat beside him in the sweet assurance of their re-union. All was well with
her now, she felt, many a look and word were exchanged during their flight.
They neared Kosala and the car descended to earth. Rama who had sent
Hanuman in advance to inform Bharata of his coming, looked forward to the
meeting with his brother. Clouds of dust announced the approach of Bharata.
It was at Chitrakut, the place where the brothers had parted, fourteen years
ago. Bharata was coming to welcome them. As the car descended, Rama left
it and advanced to greet his dear brother. They embraced one another and
turning to the crowd, Rama gave a look of general welcome to all. Arriving at
Ajodhya a state entry was in preparation. When they got to the Palace gates
all came to welcome them, except Queen Keykeya and Rama noticed this and
said : "It is not possible for me not to leave mj' car until mother Keykeya
comes." The other Queen mothers and ladies of the Palace said, "She is too
frightened to come." Ramchandra refused to leave the rath (car) and after a
time Keykeya came looking much ashamed of herself. Ramchandra then left

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the car and touching her feet said, "Mother, do not weep and shed such bitter
tears and be so ashamed. Had you not sent me to the jungle for fourteen years,
I would not have known what a virtuous woman Sita is and how devoted
Lakshmana is to me, and what a true brother Bharata is."

Once again all was joy and peace at Ajodhya. Ramchandra ruled the
kingdom more successfully than his predecessors, but for Sita there was more
trouble in store. When she looked pale and felt languid, Rama asked her if
she wished for any particular pleasure before the arrival of the comet.

"I should like to visit the forest {topohan)" she replied, and this was
promised. All the preparations were made for Ramchandra to accompany
Sita to the hermitage when he heard whispers against Sita, because she had
lived in the palace of Ravana. This so troubled him that he weighed his love
against duty as a king, and his state stood before his wife. Ramchandra was
very sad about it and decided to send Sita away and thus desert her. They all
noticed that Ramchandra was in trouble but he was silent, so no one knew the
cause of it till the day of her departure. "I know she is innocent" he said to
Lakshmana and I love her but my duty to my subjects comes before and I must
sacrifice myself for them and send my Sita away. You must take her to the
forest. " Lakshmana was greatly shocked as this proposal was most unexpected
and unwelcome news and he begged Rama to excuse him and said, "My lord,
my master, how could you command me to perform such a cruel deed, to leave
mother Sita in her delicate condition in a jungle ? What would the world think
of me and what would your people say ?" But Rama spoke to him kindly and
said, "there is no other but you, who could carry out by wishes and whom I trust.
Take Sita to the jungle and help me to do my duty to my subjects. " It wrung
the heart of Lakshmana and he was silent. Lakshmana with a sad heart
promised to obey his brother and master and on the appointed day came to Sita
to accompany her to the topoban. Sita was surprised at not being accompanied
by her husband but understood that his absence was due to the heavy demand
on his time in connection with the affairs of his state. Lakshmana drove
carefully but in silence. Sita enjoyed the peaceful scenery but her thoughts

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were filled with apprehensions. She felt uncomfortable, especially as the
twitching in her right eyes became persistent. They were now close to the
river Jumna. Soon they would have to alight from the chariot. Lakshmana
became more anxious and did not know how to break the cruel news to Sita.
His heart was sad and every nerve in his body resented this abandonment.
Reaching the river he very respectfully helped his sister-in-law out of the chariot
and in a voice choked with grief told her of the command he has received from
the king. He stood patiently by her side. After sometime she opened her
eyes and wildly staring around said, "If I could only jump into this cold river,
my sufferings would be over, but I dare not as T am carrying the child of my
husband, whom I love more than my own life. If I were to be born again on
earth, may I have as husband Sri Ramchandra and may there be no woman as
unhappy as Sita." Sita looked at the dark sky and jungle and said in an
alarmed voice, "Oh Lakshmana, why did you bring me ? Why did you bring
me? Oh but it is not your doing, it is my misfortune. I am a woman of
ill-luck born to suffer and extreme suffering has been mine." Lakshmana
consoled her as far as he possibly could, he begged her forgiveness prostrating
himself at her feet. "Kind and gentle brother" she said "I bear you no ill will
nor unkind thought. Carry my farewell to the mother-queens and tell them
that I ask their blessings for the child of the king, my lord, which is yet unborn
and tell him, Ramchandra, the great Raghab, my husband, that I bow to his
wishes which is my law. This separation is so terrible to me that I would
gladly cease to live."

Lakshmana left her and she watched his going. When his rath was out
of sight, she cried gently in her awful grief. Valmiki the sage was collecting
fuel in the forest. It was dark after the sunset — the sage was going home and
on his way he heard some one sobbing. He stooped and after searching found
the beautiful queen Sita in the jungle. He asked her, "Child, whom are you
deserted by ? Why are you left alone in this jungle surrounded by wild
animals?" Sita cried out, "I am alone, alone in the jungle, Oh Ramchandra,
Ramchandra, my husband" and she related her history to the mooni, and he

158 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

SITA

said "Child, come to my home, my topohan. We have no children and you shall
be my daughter." From that time she addressed him as 'father'. Sita followed
him to the topohan and he gave her a small hut and confided her to the care of
his wife. The time passed for the exiled Queen in quiet occupation, till the
day dawned when the cries of her infant twin-sons awakened an untold joy in
her heart. The sage named them Laba and Kusha.

Very sadly and thoughtfully Lakshmana returned to Ajodhya. He
delivered the messages Sita had sent. Lakshmana could see that the king burnt
under the desolation of his life, he understood that his wife's memory was still
alive in the heart of Rama ; often Lakshmana observed a keen sadness in his
eyes, often he saw the hot tears stream down his cheeks. Rama never visited
the inner part of the palace, never entered the rooms where Sita had dwelt.
Fourteen years passed away, the king's council pressed for an Ashyamedha-
Yagna (a great ceremony). Now this sacrifice is one which no monarch can
celebrate without a wife at his side ; for this good king the world held only one, his
wife. So Rama made an image of gold of his heart's love and placed it alongside
of himself. It was a great consolation for Sita to hear from the lips of others, of
Rama's constancy, she feared that she might have been replaced by another,
especially on the occasion of this festival, but when she heard of the image in
reproduction of herself she silently offered a prayer of thankfulness. Valmiki's
righteous indigation against Rama lessened too. Fortune had smiled on Rama
as a king ; his rule was an unparalleled one. To this day an ideal ruler is spoken
of by the Hindoos as a Ram-raja. Valmiki the sage was a famous poet. During
the years of Sita's exile he had written the story of Rama's life and taught her
sons many stanzas. Now he took the boys to Ajodhya and begged the king
to hear the drama in the great durbar. Laba and Kusha faced their father,
whom they knew not, who listened attentively to the great epic of the Ramayana.
Ever as the sweet voices rose and fell the king lived his life over again. He
saw in the dark handsome face of Laba, his own self in his youth marking with
joy and pain the likeness of his wife in the other son Kusha. The crowd
listened. Their hearts were touched and many wept, for in those faces they

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recognised their monarch's fatherhood. When the drama was finished Rama
turning to the wise Valmiki said with a deep sigh "would that my wife were
here, but I fear she will never consent to a second trial of her honour, for worthy
sir, though she was proved by fire in our presence, the people of Ajodhya did not
believe in her. If she does not win the confidence of my subjects I regret I have
not the power to take her back. Sir, I am most anxious to have my Sita as my
queen on this throne and have my sons near me. Kind sir, persuade her to
return." Valmiki 's experience enabled him to gauge and he understood that
Rama had suffered intensely for the sacrifice he had made. He longed to bring
about a reconciliation, so he promised to speak to Sita.

XII

When Valmiki interviewed the exiled queen, he discovered it was no easy
task he had undertaken, for Sita wished for no reconciliation. She acknowleged
her husband as her God, to worship and adore; but what she now sought was
peace and rest. His pleadings however, succeeded, for her sons were a great
consideration, so Sita decided to go to Ajodhya. On the fixed day, with tears,
sad tears, she said goodbye to Valmiki Mooni's wife and thanked her for all her
kindness during her stay there.

Sita left the topoban with the old sage and her beloved sons. Sita was
fatigued after her long journey from the topoban and arrived at Ajodhya. Sita
gently walked into the durbar where Ramchandra was anxiously waiting for
her. In Ramchandra's presence, with downcast eyes, looking calmly modest
and chaste, with the eyes of the crowd full upon her stood Sita. Ramchandra
knew her well ; and longed to have her in his arms but the people of Ajodhya
stood between them.

Valmiki spoke to Sita, "Dear daughter, free these people from doubt and let
them see what a virtuous woman you are in the presence of your husband the
King. Prove my dear child of your true love for your husband and take your
position a's the queen and mother of your children of Ajodhya . ' ' vSita shrank, yet
with a voice full of pathetic determination she said "I am true in thought and deed

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On the fixed day with tears, sad tears she said good-bye to Valmiki Mooni's u'ifc.

SIT A

to love 3^ou, my husband, with all my heart and soul and looking at Ramchandra
she said "My husband, you tried my virtues by fire once before, and my lord,
if you are not satisfied with that, I can give no other proof" Sita was pale, her
voice trembled and her eyes filled with sad tears, then with clasped hands she
looked upwards and said "I have not known a human mother's love. Mother
Earth, take me in your arms and put an end to this long suffering child of yours
in need a mother's love now. Oh mother Earth, be kind. ' ' Ramchandra heard
these heart-breaking words. Never imagining that this was her alternative and
expected nothing else, was prepared to receive her as the recognised queen of the
people and of his soul. At Sita's cry the Earth opened and the Goddess of the
Seas garbed in the foam of the Ocean, sitting on a golden throne lifted Sitn
into her arms and disappeared as the Earth closed. There was time only for
a farewell glance and the chasm closed. She was gone. Ramchandra felt
wrecked on the ocean of life. His only consolation was his sons. Ramchandra 's
grief was intense. At first he became very angry and said "Dare any body take
Sita away from me" and with a bow and arrow began to pierce the earth, but the
earth did not open neither did Sita return. Then Ramchandra cried out in
agony saying "Sita come back to me, I shall never try you cruelly again. There
has never been and never will be a more virtuous woman than you. Come Sita,
come back." Ramchandra's cries pierced through the hearts of the people of
Ajodhya and they repented much, knowing it was all for them Ramchandra
lost his Sita. After some time Ramchandra was consoled and his two sons gave
him much comfort. When the boys saw their mother disappear Laba and Kusha
cried and rolled on the ground. "Mother, dear mother," they said "why have
you gone and left us ? Mother did 370U bring us up to leave us here without
you? We want no kingdom, no grand robes. Happy were we with you in
that hut. Take us back, we know no father's love for you were both mother
and father to us." They found the boys disconsolate so the old queens came
to comfort and console them. Ramchandra's grief was great. For a long time
he could not speak of any thing except to say "I am the cause of Sita's death.
Sita 's name will come before mine and the world will know me as Sita 's husband . ' '

NINE WEAL INDIAN WOMEN 161

PROMILA

PROMILA

It was when Ramchandra reigned that there lived in the south of India
where Ceylon is now, a Maharajah of Danab race, named Ravana. He had
several sons and all were brave, but the eldest was the bravest and most hand-
some of them all. He had met Indra, the king of devas, in single combat, and
long and fiercely they had fought, till the Rakshasa defeated the god Indra.
That was the reason he was called Indrajit, the Conqueror of Indra.

Thus, through his son's valour, Ravana became a still more powerful king
and people trembled at his name, and his capital was famed for its strength
and riches.

Indrajit had been married to a fair and gentle princess. Promila was her
name, and she was the daughter of a Danab Maharajah of the same race as
Ravana. She was a beautiful girl, and she loved her husband with all her
heart and soul, and he returned her love with every fibre of his being.

Indrajit, with his Promila, went to his garden-house, by the sea, and here
they wandered in the sylvan glades, and all their days were one long-continued
happy dream. Indrajit drank the nectar of love from Promila's lips, and for
her the world was Indrajit. Thus the gladsome days slipped past and they knew
not what was happening in the world of strife and woe.

On the north of the island, beyond the narrow sea, stretched the great land
of India, and travellers and traders brought tales from there of kings and courts.
And thus King Ravana heard of the beauteous Sita, daughter of the saintly Janak,
King of Mithila, and how, in the great durbar, Rama, the Crown Prince of
Ajodhya, had broken Janak 's magic bow and won the peerless Princess for his
bride.

The glowing accounts of Sita's loveliness inflamed the Rakshasa's heart,
and often Ravana brooded as to how he might obtain possession of her Then

162 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

PROMILA

a strange ston,' reached his Court. When the coronation of Rama was near at
hand, on the abdication of his father, Dasaratha's second and favourite queen
had claimed a long-since oflFered boon and caused the monarch to banish his eldest
son, Rama, for fourteen years, and to place the jealous queen's son, Bharata, on
the throne. Rama, accompanied by his faithful wife, Sita, and his devoted
brother, Lakshmana, departed to the Vindhya-Giri, to spend his exile there.

One day, when the three royal hermits were living on the banks of the
Godavari river, and Rama and Lakshmana were out hunting, Ravana came and
carried Sita away to Lanka (Ceylon).

So Rama waged war upon the Rakshasa King, to rescue Sita the beautiful,
and, being half-divine, he endowed legions of monkeys with human attributes,
and, with their aid, bridged the narrow sea and besieged Lanka. All Ravana 's
sons fell, in defence of their country, including the giant Birbahoo. And the king,
who had been loath to disturb Indrajit in his well-earned rest, now felt the need of
his heir's valiant sword. But he could find no messenger to bear the tidings of
woe, for each and all feared that the Prince would disbelieve the tale of disaster
and, deeming that the messenger jested, would punish him, perhaps with death i

At last, some one remembered Indrajit 's old nurse and she declared her
willingness to go. She was aged and bent, and hobbled painfully along, leaning
heavily upon her stick, and, when she reached the Palace gates, she sank upon
the grass to rest.

Indrajit 's pleasure-house was built to perfection and by his own planning.
On entering the garden, one felt that it was not of this earth but was Paradise.
Flowers bloomed there all the year round and fruits of various kinds hung on
the trees, and birds sang sweetly. Indrajit and Promila often rowed upon
a canal, which entered the sea, and afterwards they wandered in their garden,
where stood an old temple. Here, often, Promila prayed. She used to decorate
the altar with flowers of glowing hues, and, whenever Indrajit found her there,
his heart was full of gladness, for he knew she prayed for him and all her prayer
was, "Mother Parbati, take care of my beloved."

The morning sun was brightening all the earth and the Prince and Princess

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PROMILA

were just leaving the temple, when a maid came, and said to Promila : "The
Rajkumar's old nurse has come, and sits beside the gate and weeps."

Indrajit and Promila went out to welcome the aged dame and bring her in,
and found her rocking to and fro in grief, and asked her, tenderly, the reason of
her tears.

She touched their feet, and sobbed : "My boy, my child ! the news is sad !
How shall I tell you?"

Indrajit immediately asked, with keen anxiety, "My dear parents are they
not well?"

"They are in perfect health, my son," and still she wept.

"What is it, then ?" implored the Prince. "What is the news you bring ?
Tell me, dear nurse."

"Your brother, Birbahoo, is dead," she wailed.

"Dead ! my brother Birbahoo ! What ailed him?" cried Indrajit.

The old nurse then summoned courage to tell all the terrible tale. Indrajit
listened, at first in stupefied surprise. Then, as the magnitude of the disaster
dawned upon him, his aspect became dreadful, and he cried aloud : "My
brother dead ! Birbahoo, the mighty, slain by Rama ! My parents bent with
sorrow ! And I enjoy this peaceful life ! "

For a space, he lost himself in mournful reverie. Then, throwing up his
head, as if he would confront the whole Creation, and with the glint of battle
making fire in his eyes, he cried : "Am I not Indrajit ? I shall avenge them.
Go back, my faithful nurse, and tell my King and father that I hasten with my
sword, and Rama and Lakshmana shall account to me for all they have done.
Tender my reverent salutations to niy Queen-mother. Her Indrajit will now be
to her as a hundred sons. Farewell, dear nurse, I go to prepare me for the
field." And Indrajit sped swiftly to his palace.

Promila soothed and comforted the old and cherished servant, giving her
messages of sympath}^ to her bereaved parents-in-law. Then she sought her
husband, and found him about to buckle on his sword.

"That duty is mine !" she cried, and, springing to his side, she girded him

164 NINE IDEAL INDIAN YVOMEN

PROMILA

for war, and as she did so, she said : "Husband and lord! I know your duty
to King, country and parents comes before all else, and I shall not hinder you
but may I not accompany you to the Capital ? ' '

"Promila ! beloved wife, music of my life!" and Indrajit caught her in
a mighty clasp of farewell love. "Is it possible I could forget you for a single
moment ? You are my higher soul, the sunshine of my life ! Wait here awhile
for me. I go to slay Rama and Lakshmana, as they have slain my brothers but
I shall return this evening. Fear not, my little wife !"

Promila kissed his hands and feet, in wifely love and reverence, and cried :
"Your word is my law. In all the world, there does not live a more proud and
happy wife than I. So, my prince, my King, I shall watch for you this evening
to see you return victorious."

"Was ever wife like mine ! " cried Indrajit, and held her to his heart awhile
then hastened away, mounted his great war-horse and rode forth at full speed.

Promila watched him out of sight, and then a shade of sadness crossed
her face and a sigh escaped her lips. Her maidens gathered round her, with
hopeful words. They had admiringly watched her brave, bright face, as she
leaned out of the window and waved a last farewell.

"Do not fret now, do not be unhappy," they said, "You have been so calm,
so brave, so truly a soldier's wife, and the Prince will soon return. No one
can conquer Indrajit."

The Princess wandered to her garden. It seemed strangely deserted. All
the brightness and joy were gone. The canal was no longer the same sunlit
stream. The flowers had lost their charm. The birds sang out of tune.
Indrajit was gone, and without him, life became a void, a pathless chasm, into
which she could not see. The long hours spun their weary length, and, as each
waned and passed, her soul grew heavier.

The evening shades gathered, and still no Indrajit came. Then Promila
spoke to those around her : "Night is falling, and where is my husband ? Can
no one seek him ?" and as the shadows deepened, she said : "I fear for him."
And then again : "I cannot stay here without my lord."

NINE WEAL INDIAN WOMEN 165

PROMILA

Her ladies tried to console her, and said : "Be patient, beloved Princess !
No one can harm the Rajkumar. Is he not Indrajit ?"

Promila waved aside their consolations. "I am going to him," she cried,
with sudden fire. "Who comes with me?"

"Princess, Princess," they exclaimed, "you cannot go! Th'..' great gate
will be closed. The enemy's camp is just below the city walls. You could
not pass."

Promila 's mind was set, and her plan was formed. She answered calmly :
"No gates can hold me back, no enemy intimidate me. I go to join my lord.
Who follows?"

The maidens gazed aghast. They knew not how to answer her. Admira-
tion and alarm held them dumb. Then the Princess gave her commands :
"Now, those who come with me, prepare. Don armour, and carry swords and
spears and shields, and order out the chargers. I go to meet my lord, the
Prince."

Carried away by the energy of her words, the maidens hastened to obey,
and soon a troop of them rode out, all beautiful and clad in armour. A goodly
sight ! The horses seemed to know the precious freight they bore, and proudly
held their heads as they galloped forth. The Princess led, dressed as a knight,
with her richly -chased gold scabbard swinging at her side, a bow with an
ancient quiver, full of arrows, slung across her left shoulder and the sword in
her right hand. Her silken plaits fell down upon each side, upon her glittering
armour, and her face was alight and eager, as she cried : "Now, for Lanka
and my lord ! "

It was near midnight, and all the island slept. Only the watchful guards, in
tent and city, were awake. They heard the thud of horses' hoofs breaking upon
the still night-air, and wondered.

The maiden-troop drew near the enemy's camp, and Promila chose her
messengers and sent them forward. But Hanuman, Rama's faithful ally,
challenged them, and, when they sought to pass, he said : "We know the
Rakshasa art is famous at disguise ! You shall not pass."

166 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

'M

4

'■'A

^-'>

i^

PROMILA

Theu the Lady Basanti replied : "Sir Monkey, we bear a message to the
great Rama, your master, from the Crown Princess of Lanka, and it admits of
no delay."

Hanuman hastened to his King, and soon returned to conduct the messengers
to the royal presence. Rama, received them graciously, and the girls were
impressed with the gentleness of his personality. The Lady Basanti informed
him that their Princess wished to join her husband, and desired leave to enter the
besieged Capital. " And, " she added, spiritedly, "if we are not freely permitted
to do so, we are ready to fight our way in. "

Rama answered : "Fair maidens, I have no wish to fight any one, least of
all a devoted wife. Carry my homage to your Princess, and tell her she and her
escort may pass."

Captivated by his chivalrous bearing and the majesty of his face, the two
maidens knelt at the feet of Rama and begged his blessing ere they returned
to the Princess.

Their mistress was well pleased when she heard that they could freely pass.
She gave her escort the order to advance, and the maiden-troop rode forward
through the deva camp. Rama, Lakshmana and all their army stood in silence
to watch the strange procession pass. All the fair riders were beautiful, but, sur-
passing all, was the radiant loveliness of Princess Promila. Her proud bearing,
her lily-like face, the sparkle and courage of her large, black eyes, the determina-
tion of her dainty mouth, made her a wonderful picture. In her little right
hand, she carried a drawn sword, and, as she passed Prince Rama and he joined
his hands in homage to her, she raised her sword in salutation. All who watched
the triumphant progress of Promila thought it a privileged sight and that they
had never beheld anyone so dazzlingly beautiful as the Crown Princess was that
night, and they likened her to a moon, surrounded by a court of stars.

Thus Promila and her maidens rode unharmed through their enemy's camp
and reached the gates of Lanka. The draw-bridge was lowered, and the troops
within the walls hailed Promila with shouts of joy and admiration. The news
that the Crown Princess was about to enter the city had been despatched to the

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 167

PROMILA

Palace, and, when Promila stayed her horse in the royal court-yard, her husband
stood there to greet her, his face suffused with glad surprise and admiring love.

"I could not rest without 3'ou," she murmured, and he answered : "Oh,
I am happy that you have come. You are the inspiration of my life. My
beloved," he said, "I am going to fight Rama and Lakshmana to-morrow, and
was coming to you as a conqueror."

"Oh, my lord, my husband," cried Promila, "I dread this fighting, and
how I wish there were no battle-fields in the world !"

Indrajit answered lovingly : "Promila, my sweet wife, be brave, do not
forget that you are a soldier's wife, and that the soldier defeated Indra, himself.
Besides, I am going to worship our family god, Agni (Fire) in the secret temple,
before I fight, and I am sure that, with his blessing, I shall stand by you as
a conqueror to-morrow."

Early next morning, he awakened Promila, saying "Rise, my wife, see,
the sun is tinting everything with his golden beams. It is a day of promise.
Hasten dear love, and help me dress. Let your Indrajit carry with him the
light of your eyes."

Promila sprang from her couch, and, as she assisted him, smiles dimpled
her cheeks and the music of her voice filled his ears. No sadness marred the
joy of this their last hour together. If either felt a pang of sorrow, or dreaded
ill, the thought was quickly dispelled, so as not to sadden the other.

Then they went to the Palace, to see Indrajit 's mother, and to ask her
blessing. The Queen awaited them. Her face was pale and worn with grief
for her slain sons, and now Indrajit, her first-born, the glor\' of their house,
stood before her, all ready to go, and she must bless him. The anguish of
her mother-love and fear almost stayed the pulsing of her heart. But for his
sake, she must be brave, so her e^^es alone showed the travail of her .soul.

Indrajit and Promila touched her feet, in filial obeisance, and, with tender
affection, she kissed them both on their foreheads. Then she spoke to Indrajit,
in a calm and controlled voice, and said : "My son, I feel confident that you
will return victorious, for are you not the conqueror of Indra, Lord of Heaven ?

168 NINE WEAL INDIAN WOMEN

PROMILA

Oh, I am the proudest mother of rail on earth. I bless you, my first-born, ray
precious son, with all my heart."

Then, looking at Promila, she cried : "Bohu. you are a lucky wife ! Turn
your eyes upon my son. Is he not a true warrior? Oh, be not sad, little
daughter, for in pride and victory he will return, and meantime you shall stay
with me, and we shall weave the garlands to adorn our hero this evening."

Indrajit once more touched bis mother's feet, then said farewell to Promila,
who knelt before him, and then the hero hastened to the temple. As he walked
swiftly through the Palace -garden, he heard light footsteps following him, and,
turning back, saw Promila. He opened wide his arms, and she flew into them,
like a bird to its nest, and was lost in his embrace.

"My beautiful, my queen!" he murmured, and .stroked her silky hair.

"My great and brave soldier, I have no fears for 3'ou !" she whispered,
"but I wanted just to look into your eyes, once more." And then her courage
failed her. A sudden wave of apprehension swept over her, and she hid her
face upon his breast and wept.

Indrajit held her trembling form closely to him for a while and then, raising
her flower-like face with both his hands, he gazed deep into her eyes, and said r
"Little wife, these eyes of yours are too lovely for tears ! Smile on me ! I am
a conqueror in battle, but a prisoner here ; chained with the golden fetters of your
love, I am weak. Strengthen me with smiles, and let me go to win fresh laurels. "

A blush spread over Promila 's tear-stained face and a smile irradiated her
dewy e\'es, and Indrajit thought she had ne^'er looked more beautiful.

"Oh, my Prince, my master," she said, "light and hope of my life, I shall
not be an obstacle in your wa^', but I shall anxiously await 3'our return," and so
they parted.

After leaving Indrajit, Promila prayed to Goddess Parbati to take care of
him, but a gust of wind scattered her words and .so her prayer never reached
Heaven .

Indrajit went into the temple to worship Agni (God of Fire). Crowned with
the jaimala, and decked with garlands, he looked like a god himself, but he bore

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 169

PROMILA

no arms nor weapons, for he came there to pray. As he knelt before the altar,
Bibhisan, his uncle, treacherously admitted Lakshmana through the secret
tunnel, for Lakshmana feared for his brother, Rama, in the combat with the
great Indrajit.

The Rakshasa Prince, praying there, opened his eyes and saw Lakshmana,
and, believing him to be the god Agni, raised his clasped hands and said aloud :
"Oh, Agni Dev, you have come to me, ere I go to battle. Bless me, that I may
slay Rama and Lakshmana in vengeance for my brothers' blood ! But, oh,
kind god, why do you come in the form of my enemy, Lakshmana ?"

In a voice of rage and hatred, which filled the temple like thunder,
Lakshmana answered : "Open wide your eyes, and see ! I am not God Agni,
I am Lakshmana, great Rama's brother, and I come to take your life."

Indrajit, believing that the god tried him, in some mysterious way,
answered^ reverently : "Oh, God, why do you try me, thus? Enlighten me,
I pray."

The angry voice again replied : "I am not God Agni. I am
Lakshmana."

Indrajit asked, wonderingly, "If you are truly Lakshmana, as you say, how
came you to the temple from behind the altar ? None but our Raj family know
that entrance. Nay, nay, you are God Agni, and test my faith."

Lakshmana answered impatiently : "I am not going to say how I came.
Enough that I am here, and seek your life."

Indrajit now rose to his feet, and said : "Since you are really my enemy,
and wish to fight, let me get my sword. Here, I stand unarmed, and a temple
is not the place wherein to fight. "

"Be you armed or not," shouted Lakshmana, "what care I? When one
finds a tiger in a net, is mercy shown it ? Your life I seek, and shall have it at
all costs."

"Lakshmana," said Indrajit, "I am ashamed of you. Men call you
a Kshatriya, but you disgrace the name when you force fight upon an unarmed
man."

170 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

PROMILA

Lakshmana's only answer to this just and grave reproof was a furious
attack and Indrajit was obliged to defend himself with the altar ornaments.
Lakshmana, stunned by a blow, fell senseless to the floor, and Indrajit, taking
advantage of the lull, walked to the door, to see how his enemy had got in.
There, to his horror, he found his disloyal uncle, Bibhisan.

"Now I know how Lakshmana entered here !" exclaimed Indrajit. "Oh,
uncle ! Whatever my father did, he is your king, and your flesh and blood.
Have you forgotten 5'our mother, and every tie of kith and kin ? Open the door,
and let me hence, I beg."

But Bibhisan held the door, and Indrajit added, scornfully : "I am not
going to rim away . I only wish to get my sword . Do you know that Lakshmana
would fight me unarmed?"

"Nephew," answered Bibhisan, coldly, "I am now in Rama's service.
I came with Lakshmana, his brother, and must obey him. He bid me hold the
door."

"You, a serv'ant of Rama!" replied Indrajit, in amazed disgust, but he
could say no more, for Lakshmana, who had meantime regained consciousness
had taken up his bow and shot an arrow at his enemy with fatal accuracy.
Indrajit fell to the floor and lay in a pool of blood. He gasped : "I am dying.
I shall soon be gone, but Lakshmana, beware. When my father ; the king of
Lanka, hears of my death, and how unjustly you have killed an unarmed man,
the fire of his rage will be double, and nobody on this earth will be able to save
you. You may try to hide in the midst of a crowd, or in the deep ocean, but
King Ravana's anger will follow you wherever 3'ou go."

Then, looking at his uncle, he said : "Uncle Bibhisan, it is shameful that
you, the brother of Ravana, could serve an ordinary being like Ramchandra
and be a spy for him, and thus come to kill a nephew whom once you loved."

He closed his eyes, and spoke again : "Dear father and mother, who are
waiting for my return from the temple, I shall never return. I ask for your
blessing." Then, in an anguished voice, he cried out : "Promila, Promila,
what will you do without me? I promised you I would return safely to you.

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 171

PROMILA

Promila, my beloved, if I could but see you once again ! Pray to Parbati Devi
that we may meet again soon. "

Without the temple, the Rakshasa host stood ready for battle, awaiting their
leader, and, when time passed and still he tarried, some ventured in, to remind
him of the hour. They entered and searched the now-disordered temple, and
found Indrajit lying dead behind the altar and the door to the secret passage
standing open. With beating hearts and trembling limbs, they carried the
dread news to King Ravana. At first, the monarch refused to believe them.
Could it be possible for Indrajit to be killed, unarmed, while praying to God Agni
in the temple ? But the silent flower-garlanded body of his beloved son, and the
strewn ornaments of the altar, spoke only too truly of the ghastly tragedy.

All the high hopes of the Rakshasas were dashed to the ground, and mourn-
ing filled every heart. Ravana sent out a flag of truce to Rama asking for a day's
grace, in order to perform the obsequies, which Rama granted, expressing
sympathy for King Ravana 's heavy loss.

In the palace of Lanka, all was desolation. Promila had signified her desire
to accompany her lord in his fiery journey to the realms beyond death, and none
dared stay her. Promila went to bid her mother-in-law farewell, and found her
prostrated with grief on the floor. When Promila cried out to her : "Mother,
bless me ! " the Maharani Mandodari wept, and said : "How can you leave me ?"

Promila replied : "Mother, the world is blank to me, for my husband was
all in all to me, and I have no children to live for. My husband was all my joy
and happiness, and you always wished me to be near him. Now send me to him
to-day, saying, as you always did, 'never leave him.' " Then Promila touched
her mother-in-law's feet, and left her.

The body of the cruelly-murdered Rakshasa hero was placed in a State
palanquin and Promila dressed in her bridal robes and adorned with jewels and
garlanded with flowers, took her seat within at the still, cold feet of her beloved.
The Princess looked an angel of beauty. Her sweet face was transformed, and
her eyes shone with an unearthly light.

The ladies-in-waiting formed a guard -of -honour round the palanquin. They

172 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

PROMILA

were mounted on noble chargers and dressed in armour, as they had been on the
previous night, when they accompanied the Crown Princess to Lanka, but their
faces were now sad, and they looked like stars in a misty sky.

The superb black horse, on which Promila had ridden so bravely in that
triumphant procession through the deva camp, was led at the head of the mournful
cortege. Promila 's suit of armour, sword, bow and quiver of arrows, rested
upon the empty saddle, and the noble animal walked with head bent, as if he
mourned having no rider and knew the journey upon which she was bound.

When the procession reached the sea-shore, the body of the dead warrior
was placed upon the pj're, and the Princess walked with a proud and steady
step to the front of the bier and paid her last homage to her husband. Then,
returning she knelt at King Ravana's feet, and said : "Father, give me per-
mission to go with him for whose happiness you chose me and brought me to
your home."

Ravana answered, in a broken voice : "Oh, Promila, my child, I had
always looked forward to the day when Indrajit and you would sit on the throne of
Lanka. Have I lived all these years to see this awful day ? What is Lanka
without my son?" Then he cried aloud, in grief: "Oh, Indrajit, Indrajit,
why were you taken from me ? "

Promila gently touched his feet again and, rising, walked to her maidens,
who were all weeping bitterly. The Princess distributed her jewels among them,
saying tender words of farewell to each. Most of them had accompanied her
from her father's home, when she came as a bride to Lanka, and all loved her.
She came to the Lady Basanti last of all and, embracing her, said : "Basanti,
go home and tell all there, who loved me and played with me in childhood, that
I always loved them ; and tell my dear mother," here Promila's voice broke and
she paused awhile, then went on bravely, "tell my mother I am gone with him
for whom I left my parents. Tell my dear father and mother that I have been
most happy with my husband. I cannot live without him."

Then, taking off her last, and most valuable pair of bracelets, she clasped
them on Basanti 's wrists and embraced her once again and then turned towards

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 173

PROMILA

the pyre. Her steps were slow and gentle. Her face was sad, but in her
eyes shone the same mysterious light, and she held herself with graceful strength
and dignity and looked forward expectantly as she walked towards the bier. All
hushed their breath and watched her. The murmur of the sea alone broke the
stillness.

Now the Princess was near the funeral pyre, and, with bent head and slow,
solemn step, she circled it seven times, and as she did so, her lips moved in prayer.
Then she ascended the steps and touched her head to the cold, still feet of him she
loved and, seating herself at the head of the bier, she gently and reverently raised
the dear head and placed it in her lap and sat with her head bent over the face of
the Prince. And, as the flames rose, the priests began to chant, and Ravana
the King prostrated himself with grief, crying : "Oh, Agni, great God ! My
Indrajit ! My little pearl, Promila !"

Thus, encircled in living flames of fire, the bodies of the Crown Prince
and Princess of Lanka passed from mortal sight, and the pure soul of Promila
rose to God, while the great ocean sang her requiem. And ever since, the spot
is holy ground, and King Ravana raised in haste a costly cenotaph, and, near to
it, a temple.

174 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

DAM A YANTl

DAMAYANTI

I

Far back in the golden ages of India, Bhimsen, a great and powerful
Maharajah, reigned over the rich kingdom of Bidarva, North- West of India.
The poor and oppressed never sought his gates in vain and the land rang with
his praises. Yet with all this the Maharajah was not happy. A crumpled leaf
lay in his bed of roses, and whichever way he turned he felt it, for no child had
come to bless his manhood and his whole being yearned for the joy of hearing
the name of father fall from baby lips.

The years sped on and Bhimsen 's face grew sad and sadder, and at last
all Bidarva knew that some trouble preyed upon their King's mind. Their
wonderings and conjectures may have reached the ears of a holy hermit named
Daniana. This rishi visited one day at the kingdom and long and earnest were
the conversations which the King and this sage held together. Damana was
surprised and pleased to find that all the praise bestowed on Bhimsen by his
adoring subjects was well deserved. He noticed that the Maharajah was ever
ready to hear his people's cries, and that none cried in vain. Daily he witnessed
large sums of money being distributed to relieve suffering, sickness and want.
Yet trouble was shown on the King's brow and it furrowed every feature of his
face. The rishi determined to console his sorrow. "Maharajah-yi/'' he asked
earnestly one evening as they sat in the garden under the stars, "What ails you ?
Tell me the cause of your sorrow."

"Revered Sir, Great and Kind Mooni," the Maharajah replied, with clasped
hands, "my only trouble is that I am childless and the people want an heir."

On hearing this the mooni asked the Maharajah to have a big Yagna and
many holy men came to it and they all prayed for the welfare of the Maharajah.
When it was over, Damana Mooni said, "King and friend, despair not, grieve

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 175

DAMAYANTI

no longer, since prayers are a]wa3'^s heard and the mercy of God grants them.
Seeing you so good, so noble, I have prayed for you that the desire of your
heart shall be granted. My prayer has won its way to the throne of grace."

"Oh, Rishibar, I thank 3'ou for all you have said. May I with your bless-
ings soon be the happiest man to be a father. May God grant our prayers,"
replied the King joyfully, his voice deep with gratitude and he rose from his
seat and led the way to the Palace-courtyard.

Before the year had run its course there were great rejoicings in Bidarva,
for the Queen had given birth to a daughter, and in gratitude to the Rishi Damana
for his prayers she was named Damayanti after him. Bhimsen's days were
now one golden dream of joy and he spared nothing in his care and education
of his lovely child who grew up as clever and sweet as she was beautiful. As
she ripened into maidenhood all Bharatvarsa heard of her wondrous charm
and beauty and there was not an old or young Maharajah in the land who did
not hope to win Bidarva's fair daughter when the time for her marriage came.
Even four gods, Indra, the King of Heaven, Agni, the God of Fire, Yom, the
Lord of Justice, and Baruna, the Ruler of the Seas, were among her admirers
and resolved to be suitors for her hand .

Nal, son of Birsen, adored by his subjects and honoured by all who knew
him — his people were most anxious to see him with a suitable bride to complete
his happiness. The fame of Bidarva's Princess reached his court, and he
listened, with his heart beating strangely, to the ever-increasing tales of her
wondrous beauty. The name Damayanti became sweetest music to him. He
slept but to dream of her who owned it, and wakened again just to hear her
praises. The burden and cares of State oppressed him. "Damayanti,
Damayanti," sang his impatient heart, "How shall I make known to her my
love."

One day he walked by the winding lake in his Palace gardens planning and
thinking, and as he walked to and fro his eyes fell on the stately swans that
floated there amid the lotuses, and he remembered that these swans of his had
been trained to carr}? letters and that more trustworthy messengers could not be

176 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

DAMAYANTI

found. So he wrote and put a letter in the beak of one of the birds, telling
Damayanti of his love.

Damayanti heard the praise of the great Nal in Bidarva from one and all.
The fair Princess secretly gave her young heart to the ruler of Nishad, without
his knowing anything about it.

One evening she wandered in the garden with some of her friends and all
their talk was of Maharajah Nal and his knightly deeds. A dreamy expression
came into Damayanti 's sweet face and her glorious eyes were full of yearning.
Her companions remarked it and whispered among themselves. As they neared
the lake they noticed a magnificent swan swimming towards the steps. Some
of the girls ran down to the water's edge to see it. To their surprise it seemed
frightened of them and began to swim quickly away. When they retreated it
returned and when they again advanced to the ghat it again swam rapidly away.
The Princess's curiosity was awakened and she said to her companions : "All
of you wait here. I will go and see what it is. "

With nimble grace she sped to the edge of the lake and down the steps and
the beautiful swan immediately swam swiftly to her and bowing its slender and
graceful neck dropped something at her feet. Damayanti stooped and picked
it up with a strange thrill at her heart. It was Nal's message of love. The tender
rays of the setting sun kissed her blushing face as she bent over the letter, and
when her attendants surrounded her the}- guessed her secret. Damayanti stood
lost in love's dream-land until one of her companions came near and said that the
swan waited. Then she raised her eyes from the letter and the loveliest smile
illuminated her face. "We know, we have guessed," laughed her friends.
"It is Nal, the Maharajah, who has written to you and 3'ou love him. Oh lucky
Princess."

The Princess acknowledged that they had guessed right and begged them
to help her and they all faithfully promised they would. Then Damayanti began
to answer her wonderful love-letter but it took her some time to frame a reply
which pleased her. When it was ready she herself placed it in the swan's beak
and watched the stately bird sail proudh- down the waters of the lake. A stream

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 177

DAMAYANTI

connected the waters of Nishad and Bidarva, and the swan travelled up and
down bearing letters from Nal to Damayanti and from Damayanti to Nal.

At last one of Damayanti 's girl attendants told the Queen (Maharani) that
Damayanti and Nal loved each other, and the Maharani immediately told her
husband. Bhimsen was delighted to hear that his daughter had given her heart
to one so worthy, and he lost no time in proclaiming a Swayamhara.

Maharajah Nal, attired in his best and looking his handsomest and happiest,
was going towards Bidarva when he met the four gods, Indra, Agni, Yom and
Baruna travelling in the same direction. He reverently saluted the gods,
wondering carelessly what had brought them thus to earth. The gods returned
his greeting and all asked as if with one voice where he was going.

He replied proudly, "To the Swayamhara, to win and wed Bidarva's
Princess, Damayanti."

What was his surprise when Indra answered, "Well, bra\'e Nal first carry
a message to the Princess herself for us. Tell her that we four gods have heard
of her beauty and are each anxious to m.arry her and that we are attending her
Swayamhara, and if she will choose one of us she will be a very happ}- wife and
become a goddess."

Poor Nal, his heart fell at these words. Gods competing, what chance
had he : But a way of escape from bearing their message seemed possible.

"It is hardly likely that I should succeed in gaining admittance to the
antapur," he said in reply.

"Oh," answered all four gods cheerfully, "have no fear about that. We
will disguise jrou and you will get in quite easily."

Nal, though inwardly distressed, submitted to the disguise. His hopes of
winning Damayanti, when these gods were his rivals, had diminished, but he
would have one first and last look at the face he had so often pictured. He
therefore listened attentively to their instructions and then continued his way
to the Palace of Bidarva. When he reached his destination he soon found his
way to the antapur and the Princess's apartment unnoticed by any one. Her
bridal dress lay ready upon a couch and her maids braided her hair. As Nal

178 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

DAM AY ANT I

slipped into the room he caught a mirrored reflection of her enchanting beauty
and stealing softly into a corner he feasted his eyes on her wondrous loveliness.
It was all and more than he had ever pictured. No pari (angel) could be fairer.
No wonder these gods had descended to earth to wed her.

Her attendants, all in gay attire, stood around and when the hair-dressing
was completed they exclaimed admiringly : "Our beloved Princess, you look
exquisitely beautiful to-night. The Maharajah Nal will be blinded by your
charms, lucky Nal." The sound of his name roused the hidden messenger
from his dream of admiration and stepping forward, he said : "Fair Princess,
I am the bearer of a message from the four gods, Indra, Agiii, Yoni and Bartina.
They are suitors for your hand and desire you to choose one of them. "

The Princess started in alarm at hearing a man's voice in her room, but
the respectful bearing of the unknown one re-assured her, and she listened
quietly to his speech. As she did so his handsome face thrilled her, and her
heart whispered within her, "Would that he were Nal."

The disguised Maharajah had not long to wait for her answer, and when
the silver notes of her gentle voice floated through the room they filled his heart
with joy. "Stranger, I know not who you are but it is not a pleasant message
that you have brought me. This is the answer I wish you to convey back for
me. I thank the great and kind gods for the honour they have paid me and I am
proud of it, but my heart and soul are given to the Maharajah Nal and I shall
wed none but him . ' '

"Gods are gods, fair lady," answered the secretly -overjoyed Nal, while all
the maidens wondered at the radiance which illuminated his face and the love-
light which leaped into his eyes. "Nal, though a great Maharajah, is after all
even at his best just an ordinary human being."

"I would rather be Nal's wife than anyone's, for my love is given to him,"
Damayanti replied very sweetly and very determinedly, and Nal's heart beat
rapidly at her words. "Whether I wed Nal or not, my love for him is true and
I am his and his alone. Kind Messenger, please bear my answer back to the
gods."

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 179

DAMAYANT^

Nal could not speak for joy and bowing low in homage before her he turned
to leave the room but ere he reached the door a sudden impulse compelled the
Princess to ask : "Won't you tell me who you are?"

"I am Nal," he answered softly and sped swiftly from the zenana.
Damayanti closed her eyes in ecstasy, murmuring softly : "My prayers are
heard, he is Nal, my Nal."

The four gods were waiting his return and listened eagerly for the answer
he had brought them. Disappointed, but still hopeful, each declared he would
test Damayanti 's love for Nal by going to the Swayambara disguised as another
Nal. Once again the Maharajah's heart trembled, but this time for Damayanti
as well as for himself.

The great durbar of Bidarva was crowded with suitors. Many maharajahs,
princes, and nobles assembled for Bhimsen's lovely daughter, Damayanti, in
her bridal attire and attended by a bevy of young and fair maids of honour, one
of whom carried a long garland of scented flowers, walked along the lines of
expectant gallants, listening with gentle dignity and patience to the praises of
each, and then passing silently on. Presently she suddenly stopped and her
girlish figure trembled as if with fear. The dainty blushes faded from her cheeks
lea^•ing her face colourless, and her sweet lips drooped with sorrow. Everyone
in the assembly held his breath and wondered what the Princess would do, for
five Nals sat side by side, as like each other as they could be. And, like a life-
less statue, the Princess stood before them. Which was he, her Nal ?

The heart of the real Nal swelled with pitying love that she should be in so
sore a state and he powerless to her. But as she stood there Damayanti prayed :
"God of Love. Guide me aright in my choice. If my love for Nal be pure and
true, direct me, help me to know him." Then taking the garland in her own
hand, she bravely raised her eyes. Four of the Nals sat straight upright,
looking calmly at her, but the fifth kept his eyes fixed on the floor, so she knew
at once this was the Nal, King of her heart.

The four gods were generously delighted at her keen perception and assisted
at the wedding and blessed the happy pair with rich blessings. But as they

180 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

DAMAYANTI

journeyed back to heaven they overtook Sani and he was wroth to hear that an
ordinary man had been preferred by a maiden to a god, and vowed to avenge the
insult. The wedding festivities over, Damayanti accompanied her husband to
his home, and all Nishad welcomed her with joy. Several happy years passed
away and two children came to complete their joy, a son, Indrasen, and his
sister, Indrasena. But the sight of their happiness did not change Sani's pur-
pose. Nothing could make him forget the insult the gods had had in the
rejection of the four by Damayanti.

So he became friendly with Nal's younger brother, Pushkar, and often
visited him but always invisibly. Pushkar alone could see or hear him. At
first Sani led Pushkar to talk about his brother, then he began to whisper
insinuations in the young Prince's ear. Now the Maharajah was free from
vice of any kind and his soul pure, and at first Pushkar was indignant to hear
any doubts of his elder brother but by degrees the poison worked and finall}'
he came to believe that Nal was not a saint and it only needed an opportunity
to reveal his weakness. At last, tutored by Sani, Pushkar brought some dice
to the palace and proposed to his brother that they should amuse themselves by
throwing them. The Maharajah carelessly assented, and by degrees the fatal
passion took possession of his mind, and one after another he staked all he had,
money, jewels and kingdom and lost all.

'*You have lost everything save your wife and children," shouted Pushkar
in a harsh voice, "now you had better stake her."

Nal sprang to his feet in indignation at the rude words, but as he raised
his hand to punish the insulter he realised his position, that he was a beggar and
beggared by his own hand and the taunter his own victorious brother. Leaving
Pushkar the ruined Maharajah sought his Queen. When he entered her apart-
ment his troubled face and gloomy eyes betrayed his agitation and before he
could speak Damayanti stood by his side and asked, "What troubles, my husband
and Lord? Tell your Damayanti, I implore of you, perhaps she can help."

Gazing deep into her loving eyes Nal answered sadly, "Damayanti,
beloved one, I am in terrible trouble. I know not how to tell you of it."

NINE WEAL INDIAN WOMEN 181

DAMAYANTI

The Queen clasped bis hand in hers and caressing it said tenderly : "Tell
me, husband beloved, tell me."

"Daniayanti," he stammered^ "I am ashamed to tell you. I have committed
a terrible sin. I have lost all I possess in the world and my brother with his
dice has won everything, kingdom and all and is now the Maharajah.
Damayauti, my poor Damayanti, j^ou and I are beggars and homeless. What
have you to say to your worthless husband ? ' '

Damayanti lovingly stroked her humbled hero's hand and answered
brightly : "Why, let us go to my father, he has no son and you will be one to
him."

"No, no, my wife," replied Nal, "I am a ruined man, I cannot go to my
father-in-law, but 5'ou may go back to your parents. Yes, you must leave me
and wait until I can offer another home for you, and then you will return to me
with the children. If ever I get back my State I shall come myself to your
father's kingdom to fetch you, but at present the only thing for you to do is
to leave me."

Damayanti answered quietly but in a most decided tone : "Nal, I did not
marry you for money or position, but for yourself because I loved you. My
love for you is unchanged and where you go I follow for I am yours for weal and
woe. I will send the children to my mother, but my place is by your side, and
nothing will induce me to think otherwise."

Back across the years his memory flew to the Swayamhara day when she
in her fresh girlish beauty had chosen him above all, even the four gods, and
this was the return he had made her. He raised his head with renewed hope,
but sadly pointed out to her the hardness and difficulties of his future life, for
he had decided to go to the jungles. Damayanti remained unshaken in her
determination to share his altered lot. So the children were sent from Nishad
to her parents, and the State, with its beautiful palace and all its treasures, now
belonged to his brother Pushkar; then Nal and his devoted wife prepared to
leave the home where they had spent so many happy days. Just as they were
setting out for the jungle Pushkar 's servants stopped Damayanti and said to her

182 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

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rudly, "Your jewels and rich clothes belong now to our master, Maharajah
Pushkar. You have no right to any of them."

So Damayanti clothed herself in a common, coarse saree and went forth
without a single possession, but she held Nal's hand in hers and talked brightly
and bravely of the simple life they would be able to lead in the forest.

They had been there only a few days when Sani, chuckling over his revenge,
came to see how they fared, but he came secretly, hiding himself in a heavy
black cloud. One afternoon he saw the exiled king and queen sitting under
a tree and they both seemed quite reconciled to their new life and both looked
quite happy. He felt furious, for he had hoped to find them miserable and
Damayanti regretting that she had chosen Nal for her husband in preference
to one of the gods.

As Sani watched them and wondered how he could punish them still
further he heard Nal say : "Your wish is my law, Damayanti."

"Ho ! Ho !" laughed Sani, "Now is my time," and he immediately changed
himself into a golden bird and alighted before the happy pair.

Damayanti exclaimed, "Oh look at that lovely bird," and she was so
pleased with it that she begged Nal to catch it, saying, "Do, ni}' dear lord, try to
secure it, and we shall sell it for an immense sum of money and we shall be able
to buy some food." Nal needed no second bidding and flung the corner of his
dhooti over the wonderful bird. To his surprise the golden creature flew away
from the ground, carrying the garment with it, leaving Nal a picture of distress.
"Share my saree with me," said Damayanti sweetly and Nal did so, for where
in the forest could he get another garment.

Then, laughing merrily over the adventure, Nal looked quite happy dressed
up in Damayanti 's anchal (end of the saree). These two loving hearts wandered
on, more united and happier than ever. Sani had expected that Nal would curse
Damayanti for this fresh misfortune and leave her, and the sight of their in-
creased happiness and devotion angered him still further and he renewed his< vow
of vengeance. One afternoon, a few days later Damayanti, feeling very tired,
rested with her head on her husband's knee. While she slept Nal lovingly

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DAMAYANTI

watched her. About sunset a large black cloud appeared in the sky, and from
it a voice called : "Nal, leave Damayanti, she is a witch who has charmed you,
and until you forsake her, your luck will not mend. "

Nal was impressed by the strange voice and wondered whence it came, but
looking down into Damayanti 's beautiful face he answered "My wife is an angel.
I will never leave her." The voice spoke again, much louder and still more
urgent : "Nal, rise and go. She has bewitched you. Trust me, obey me, go
at once."

The voice had a strange power which hj^pnotised Nal despite all his efforts
to withstand its power. For a few minutes Nal forgot where he was, what he
was doing and his past. In that still, dark night, the hea\'y cloud hovering
over him, this voice, unknown to him, had influenced him so that Nal with
trembling hands, tore the half of the saree which he was wearing and Nal felt
that he had no strength of his own, that he was drawn by the unknown voice
and gently lifting Damayanti 's head from his knee, he laid it on a stone. Then
he rose slowly to his feet and left her, never once looking back to see if she had
awakened.

After Nal had gone Damayanti slept on. When Damayanti woke up she
found her husband gone. She opened her eyes to find beneath her head a cold
hard stone. Then she sat up and as she did so discovered that half of her saree
was torn off. Nal was not with her and she gazed around, wondering where she
was. Then she rose to her feet, calling him. There came no answer and slowly
the knowledge that she was alone forced itself upon her. The forest echoes seemed
to be mocking her and saying : "Nal has left, deserted you." She ceased her
cries and waited and as she waited she thought : "What can have happened?
Some fresh misfortune has befallen him. Nal, the great Nal, my brave
husband, cannot really have deserted me."

Poor Damayanti ! She knew not what to do. She would not believe for
a long time that her husband could leave her alone in the forest, surrounded by
wild animals. Damayanti again began to cry and called out to Nal, "My Nal,
my lord, come back, I am alone, come back to me. Oh Nal, where are you?"

1?4 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

DAMAYANTI

The deserted Princess waited the whole night, but in vain. Nal never appeared.
Damayanti realised then that her husband had really left her. She was des-
perate and cried in anguish. The Princess left the cottage and began to wander
in the forest. A few dsivs passed; though exhau.sted with hunger, thirst and
crying, she walked on and on. Suddenly she found her path blocked by a huge
python. She shrieked aloud in terror and to her relief a shikari dashed out from
behind a tree, killed the serpent and then turned to Damayanti. Her wonderful
beauty thrilled him and for a space he stood spell-bound before her. When
he found his voice he asked : "Why does such a loveh* maiden wander alone
in this wilderness?"

Damayanti answered, "I am in great distress. Brother, can you show me
the way out of this jungle and have you seen my husband, Nal ?"

The shikari answered with a wicked smile, "You ha\e lost your way,
fair maiden, m}- house is near. It and all I have shall be yours. Come
with me."

Damayanti proudly drew herself away from him and answered indignantly,
"How dare you speak so to me? T am the wife of the Maharajah Nal. If
you come near me I shall kill you."

But the shikari did not mind and spoke roughly, "If you will not come
with me I shall take you b}'- force."

Damayanti repeated in a stern voice, "If you dare touch me I shall avenge
myself."

Still the hunter pressed nearer and, kneeling, lifted his bow and pointed
an arrow at her to frighten her.

Damayanti raised her hand to stop him, saying, "If I am a virtuous woman,
maj^ you stay where you are and may the gods not permit you to move."

Laughing derisively at her words the shikari attempted to spring to his feet
and then the conviction that he was riveted to the spot, came to him like
a thunder-bolt. Yet he strove and strove with all his might to rise and while he
thus vainh^ struggled Damayanti disappeared. He found he could not move,
that he was paralysed and he had to .stay where he was.

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 185

DAMAYANTI

The unhappy princess wandered on and presently met a party of merchants
who, seeing her in distress, invited her to travel with them. But alas ! at night
a herd of wild elephants attacked the camp, trampling and goring all to death
and Damayanti alone escai)ed. For a day or two she wandered about in the
forest and at last reached its edge. Glad to be out of the jungle she walked
rapidly on and came to the gates of a large town. But once again her grief
over-powered her and she went on, with her long hair floating in the breeze
and great tears streaming down her cheeks, moaning plaintively, "Where is
Nal? Where is Nal?"

The street boys thought her mad and threw stones at her, some of which
struck and cut her tender limbs, but she walked straight on, unconscious of their
taunting cries and blows and her bleeding wounds, and still pursued by the
mischievous urchins she reached the palace walls. The Maharani, standing
at her window-, noticed from afar a woman in a piteous plight and sent an order
to the sentries at the gate to rescue her from the cruelty of the boj's. To her
joy Damayanti learned that this was the Palace of Chedi, for her mother's sister
had married the Maharajah of Chedi, but she felt that she would bring further
discredit upon her beloved husband if she openly declared herself, so she decided
she would contrive to enter the palace and offer her services as a maid-servant.
Accordingly she asked the guards who had rescued her if the Maharani were
in need of a maid. They said no and gazed at her in surprise for she was
a strange applicant for service with her long hair hanging dishevelled down to
the ground, her saree torn and her beauty marred with dust and grief. But her
refined manner and gentle pleading showed them she was of high birth and finally
they allowed her to enter the palace. She soon found her way to the courtyard
of the antapur and the waiting women there crowded around her in curiosity and
when they understood that she had come hoping to be taken into service they
laughed mockingly at her. But she patiently waited until their mirth had spent
itself and then gently repeated her request, adding that she wanted no wages,
only food and shelter, and pleading that she would do anything asked of her,
save scour plates, or touch anyone's food. Her persistence overcame them and

186 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

DAMAYANTI

one of the women led her to the Maharani's Head Lady-in-waiting, who said
she would give her a trial.

Damayanti performed all the tasks allotted to her with such perfection that
ever}' one was pleased with her, and finally she was promoted to be companion
to the Rajkumari Sunanda and this position brought her into daily contact with
the Maharani. But as her saree was always drawn over her face and she spoke
in a disguised voice her aunt did not recognise her. Both the Maharani and
the Princess Sunanda became fond of her and she spent manj^ hours of each day
with them. One day the Maharani, in talking to her of her lost niece,
Damayanti, said : "I do not know why my beautiful niece ever married that
man, Nal. He gambled away all he had, including his kingdom, and then took
her away to the jungle. The poor children have not heard anything of their
parents since they left."

Damayanti remarked gently, "Perhaps, the poor Maharajah could not
help gambling." But the Maharani did not agree to this and said "Ah ! if
you could only see my niece. She is all that is good and lovely. I wash she had
married one of the gods but she preferred this Nal, who has treated her so
shamefully."

Poor Damayanti ! It hurt her deeply to hear a word against her husband
and her tears fell on the flower-garland she was making. The Maharani
noticed that she wept and said : "How sympathetic you are ! You understand
so well how I grieve for my niece. Do you know, child, you often remind me
of her, and for that reason I like to have you with me, for I love my Damayanti,

dearly."

Now about this time a man of Bidarva, named Sudeb, arrived at Chedi,
for when Maharajah Bhimsen had heard of Nal's misfortune with the dice and
how, exiled from his kingdom, he had betaken himself into the jungles, and
that Damayanti had willingly accompanied him, Bhimsen 's heart was sore to
think that his beloved daughter should be subjected to a life of poverty and
hardship and his kingly soul determined to find the wandering pair and treat
Nal as a son. He welcomed his two grand -children and then despatched

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 187

DAMAYANTl

messengers to the kingdoms all over India and to seai-ch the forests and bring
the exiled pair in haste to Bidarva. Sudeb was the most confidential and
capable of these messengers, and when in the course of his quest he reached
Chedi, and heard how the Rajkumari's new companion had come to
the palace in great distress, and how her refinement had made her a special
favourite in the royal household, he asked many questions. When he was told
of the three conditions she pleaded for, he said within himself, "This is surely
some noble lady in disguise," and, hastening to the palace, he sought an inter-
view with the Maharajah, who listened to him attentively and gave him leave to
see the Princess's companion.

When Damayanti learned that Sudeb came from Bidarva, she asked so
eagerly about her children and her parents that Sudeb was convinced of her
personality and said to her, "You are our own princess ; why are you here, thus
disguised ? ' '

The Maharani of Chedi was present at the intendew and Damayanti fell
at her aunt's feet crying, "Dear Mashima (aunt), forgive me, pity me."

Her Mashima (Maharani) leaned over her tenderly, saying : "Damayanti !
Can it be possible ! Dear one, is it really you ?"

"Yes," answered Damaj^anti, throwing back her saree and raising her
beautiful eyes to the Maharani 's face, "I am your unhappy niece. Forsaken
in the forest, I wandered here. Will you kindly send me to my children and
parents? They alone can comfort me, and I long for them."

Her aunt answered, with many loving and soothing words, that her
children and parents would soon be with her, and hurried away to tell her
husband the joyful news. The Maharajah welcomed Damayanti as a daughter
and there were great rejoicings.

The maids fell at her feet, imploring her forgiveness for treating her as
one of themselves, but Damayanti sweetly told them she had nothing to forgive
and thanked them for their kindness to her. The guards who admitted her
and the lady-in-waiting who engaged her were handsomely rewarded.

Sudeb returned to Bidarva with the glad tidings that the Princess was

188 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

DAMAYANTI

found and Maharajah Bhinisen sent a royal escort for his daughter, who bade
her aunt and uncle a grateful farewell, begging them to bless her and to pray
with her that she might find her husband again. When she arrived at Bidarva
her parents welcomed her with joyful hearts and her children were delighted to
be with her again and would not leave her side for an instant. But Damayanti's
heart was heavy. She longed for Nal and her one desire was to find him.

II

The strange spell which Sani had cast over Nal lasted for many days.
His only desire was to speed on and on and he fled into the heart of the forest,
where he seemed to lose himself in a world of darkness, for the trees were so
high and the foliage so thick that the sun could not penetrate through to the
earth. As he groped his way about, the darkness gave place to a glaring lurid
light and a fierce crackling warned Nal that the jungle was on fire. He ran
hither and thither seeking a way of escape but the flames surrounded him on
every side and in despair he climbed up a high tree. As he watched the raging
fire he saw a huge snake writhing in agony. "Poor thing !" he exclaimed,
"how it suft'ers. I must try to save it," and descending the tree he saved the
reptile from the fire and holding it to his breast he climbed up again. But
before he could reach the higher branches the snake struck him and Nal,
dropping it hastily shouted in horror, "You ungrateful creature, I should have
left you to be burned to death . ' '

Nal was startled to hear the same voice he had heard the night he left
Damayanti in the jungle, and it said, "You will be happy in the end, for good
will triumph over evil," and, with these words, the voice was hushed.

Remembrance came back to Nal and he clearly understood how all his
misfortunes had happened. His repentance for his weakness over the dice was
deep but he felt he could never return to his family, so he resolved to spend the
remainder of his life hiding somewhere. He was terribly disfigured by the fire
and he knew that no one would recognise him. So he left the forest and walked
on and on, begging for his food on the way.

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DAMAYANTl

At Ajodhya he heard that Maharajah Rituparna wanted a driver for his
rath (chariot). Nal was a skilful driver and he promptly applied for the
situation and got it.

In the meantime at Bidarva Damayanti was fretting her heart out for him,
and to all her enquiries they continually answered, "No news. No one knows
whether Nal is dead or alive. Try to forget him," and Damayanti would
answer, "Forget him ! my husband ! my Nal ! It is impossible ; I live only to
see him again. Were I sure to find him I should follow him through the
flaming fire."

One day she looked brighter and some of her girl-attendants remarked it
and she replied : "I have thought of a plan by which I may find Nal and I want
your help."

The Princess had that morning heard that the Maharajah Rituparna had
a new and clever driver, in fact this aged Maharajah's charioteer had become
famous for his driving. And Damayanti, knowing what a wonderful driver
Nal was, decided upon a bold plan which might bring him to her.

Her companions declared their willingness to help her, so she informed them
that she was thinking of marrying again.

"Marrying again!" they cried aghast, "Princess, how can you say
anything so terrible."

"I am sorry to displease 3'ou," Damayanti answered quite calmly, "but
I mean what I say and all of you have just promised to help me." "But", they
pleaded, "it is unheard of for a married lady to marry again."

The Princess laughed happily and said, "Now, my girls, I want no more
questions and no interference but," she added, winningly, "with your kind
help, I must find Nal."

The ladies looked at her sad face and tear-shadowed eyes. They knew
that their Princess was a true and devoted wife. They pitied her, in her great
grief, and longed for Maharajah Nal to return. So they stilled their anxiety
and awaited her wishes. She told them that she suspected the wonderful
driver, Bahook, at Ajodhya to be her Nal, and she desired one of them to

190 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

DAMAYANT!

acquaint Sudeb of this and to tell him that he must secretly convey an invitation
to the old Maharajah Rituparna to come to the Princess Damayanti's Swayam-
bara, which was fixed for a certain day. Her friends declared this to be an
excellent plan. There was so little time, and Ajodhya so far away, that the old
Maharajah would be obliged to travel very fast and would, of course, need his
most skilful driver. The proceedings were to be kept secret from Damayanti's
father for fear he should forbid them, but some of the ladies broke the news as
gently as they could to her mother. When the Maharani heard of her
daughter's extraordinary resolution she was stunned with horror and dismay
and too ashamed to tell her husband.

Sudeb journeyed with speed and delivered his message to Maharajah
Rituparna. The old Maharajah was overcome with joy to think that he, iu his
old age, should be honoured with an invitation to the Swayamhara of one so young
and lovely as the Princess Damayanti. He summoned his charioteer, Bahook,
and asked him, "How long will it take to go to Bidarva?"

He answered, "Several days."

"That won't do," answered the excited Maharajah, "You must get me
there to-morrow evening. The beautiful Princess Damayauti is to wed again
and 1 am called to her Swayamhara."

"What, what?" cried the disguised Nal, in hoarse and agitated tones,
' ' Damayanti going to marry again ? ' '

Sudeb had been watching the charioteer from the moment he entered the
room and his wild agitation, and the free use of the Princess's name betrayed
him and Sudeb was convinced that he was none other than the missing Nal.
But how terribly changed he was, how disfigured ! The eyes alone in their
anguished depths revealed the once great and handsome Maharajah of Nishad.

Maharajah Rituparna frowned angrily at his servitor's unusual behaviour
and asked severely : "How dare you use the Princess's name? Remember
your place."

For a few minutes Bahook stood dismayed and troubled, then with an effort
he controlled himself and said to his master, "Forgive me, Sir; but it is a

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strange thing to hear of Princess by birth and Maharani bj- marriage marrying
a second time."

"It is no concern of yours," the Maharajah answered severely, then added
more mildly : "Do 3'ou know, this Princess refused four gods and chose a worth-
less fellow named Nal, who gambled away all he had and then deserted his wife in
a lonely jungle, where she had accompanied him in his misfortune. Well does
she deserve a good husband and I am proud to think that I am bidden to her
Swayambara/'

A faint smile flickered over the driver's face. The thought that this old
man fancied he would be chosen by Damayanti amused Nal in spite of his great
trouble, but he determined to humour him and reach Bidarva with all speed,
so he said respectfully : "I shall do my best, Sir, to get j^ou to Bidarva in time
for the Swayamhara, if your Highness will start at once."

Sudeb begged of Maharajah Rituparna that he might accompany him and
soon all three started. Bahook drove like a fury and they went like lightning
through towns and \'illages. The Maharajah dropped his gold -embroidered and
jewelled scarf and called to Bahook to stop and pick it up.

"Impossible, Sir," the driver shouted back, "We are miles away from it
by now."

"Are we really travelling so fast?" asked the Maharajah, while Sudeb,
sitting silently beside him, thought : This is surely Nal, only the poM-er of
love would dictate such mad speed.

When they reached the capital of Bidarva, Maharajah Rituparna was
surprised to find there were no preparations for a Swayamhara and no other
guests at the Palace. But he received a courteous welcome from Bhimsen and
was condvicted to the Palace. Maharajah Bhimsen, greatly perturbed ^t his un-
expected guest's thanks and talk of a Swayamhara, hastily .sought his wife, who
told him the little she knew.

"But where are the other guests?" asked the wonder-struck Bhimsen,
"surely Damayanti did not bring poor old Rituparna here to insult him, I don't
like it at all. What has come over our Damayanti ?"

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Bahook had taken the chariot and horses to the stables, relieved to see there
was apparently no durbar, but longing for news of Damayanti. Sudeb had
hastened to the antapur and told the Princess of the driver's dismay on hearing
that the Princess Damayanti was to marry again. Damayanti quickly called
one of her ladies to her and asked her to take the little Prince Indrasen and his
sister to the stables to visit the famous driver of Ajodhya. Bahook was pretend-
ing to clean the harness but he was miserably absorbed in troubled thought as to
how he should act, and did not see the lady and children coming towards him.

"Driver", said the lady, "Our Princess has sent her children to visit the
stables to see the horse. " He started forward, exclaiming, "How kind of her,"
and gazing with eager eyes at the lovely girl and boy before him. The lady
could see no trace of the handsome Nal in the haggard driver, but the anguish
of his eyes touched her heart. "I wonder how your Princess knows I love
children," he tried to say lightly but his voice trembled with emotion, and his
yearning heart longed to hold his little ones on his knees. "May I take them
in my arms?" he asked in a quivering voice. The lady said, "Yes," and he
kissed the children again and again, while the tears rolled down his scarred face.

"Why do you weep ?" asked the lady-in-waiting. "Does it make you un-
happy to see our Princess's lovely children?"

"Oh, no, no," he answered, "but they remind me of my own children,
who are exactly like them and the same age."

"That is very strange," said the lady. "Do you mean to say your
children are exactly like these ? ' '

"They are," he assured her and added sadly, " but I have been separated
from them for a long time."

The lady was now certain that this was Nal, but, pretending still to believe
he was a charioteer, she said, "Indeed, and how is it you have not seen your
children for a long time ? ' '

Nal looked confused, then answered slowly, "They are with their mother
in her father's home."

"Why?" asked the lady.

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DAM A YANTl

"1 am but a poor driver," Nal answered awkwardly, "and have to attend
to my work."

"Yes," said the lady, "but even if you are poor and have to work, you must
not neglect your wife and children. What is your wife like ?"

"She is the most lovel}' woman on earth," answered the disguised Nal,
in loving tones, "and I am not worthy of her."

"You are a cruel husband not to remain with such a good wife," the lady
said, severely, and Nal winced. She noticed the anxiety with which he changed
the conversation, by asking her, "Fair maiden, is it true your Princess is going
to marry again?"

"Why not ?" was the crushing reply. "My only wonder is that she waited
so long . But why do you ask ? ' '

"Because," said Bahook, "I understand my master has come to attend
her Swayamhara."

"Yes, the Princess herself invited him," said the mischievous girl,
determined to hurt Nal's feelings as much as she could, "and she is going to
marry again."

He was silent for a moment, then ventured to ask another question, "Is
her iirst husband dead?"

"Do not speak of her first husband," the lady replied in an angry tone,
"he is the most cruel of men that ever lived on earth. Would that he had never
come into our Princess's life. She is beautiful and young, and he proved
himself unworthy of her and treated her shamefully. Had he been my
husband "

"Still, he may be alive," the driver ventured to interrupt, but his voice
was trembling and his troubled expression and uneasy eyes betrayed his
agitation. Off his guard in his distress, he had spoken in his natural voice
and the girl felt sure he was Nal. Hardly able to conceal her joy, she told
him hastily she must now take the children back to the Palace.

Nal kissed his boy and girl once more and said to them, "Tell the Princess,
your kind mother, I am most grateful to her for the great honour she has

194 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

DAMAYANTI

bestowed on me in sending you both to the stable."

The lady-in-waiting returned to Damayanti, much relieved to know that
the Princess would be happy again at finding her beloved Nal.

Next day she came again. "Driver," she said sweetly, "our Princess
has heard that you cook very well and she will be glad if you will come and
cook something for her to-day."

Nal 's heart leaped with joy. So Damayanti sought a sign from him ! He
answered eagerly, "With pleasure. To cook for your Princess will be a great
honour to me." And he followed the lady to the Princess's kitchen and
prepared some choice meat curries which were known only to him and
Damayanti.

When the Princess tasted the curry she cried joyfully to her attendants :
"I have found Nal ! There is not a doubt that this driver is he ! I must go
to him at once."

And, dressed in a simple saree and with her hair hanging down her back
in a single plait to signify that she was beroohi, she was prepared to go to the
stables.' Ever since Nal left her she had dressed as beroohi; no ornaments, no
expensive jewels were ever seen on her, though her parents and friends often
begged her to have them.

One of the ladies-in-waiting was sent to inform the driver that the Princess
was coming to visit him. Nal longed for, yet dreaded the meeting. Would
she shrink from his disfigured face ? Would she scorn him in a position so
much beneath him ?

When Damayanti stood before him, as sweet and fair-looking as before,
but with the traces of sadness and suffering written in her lovely face, his
heart reproached him for all that his weakness had cost her and in his remorse
and humility he thought it better to make her believe he was in reality only an
obscure driver. So he stood up and, respectfully saluting her, said : "Princess,
this is a great honour to me and I appreciate it, but I am only a humble driver
and you are King Bhimsen's daughter. A stable is no place for you. You
should not have come here to see me. ' '

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DAM A YANTI

Damayanti was grieved to see him so scarred and altered and these formal
words of his pained her sorel}\ She knew he was her husband and her suffer-
ing heart could bear no more. So, casting herself at her feet, she cried out,
"Husband, beloved, be not so cruel. Be yourself. My sufferings have been
great, I can bear no more. Have mercy on me."

But Nal behaved in the same strange manner. "Rise, Princess, " he said,
and, when Damayanti rose to her feet and stood before him, he turned harshly
away. The sight of her still wonderful loveliness and the recollection of her
sending for the old Maharajah Rituparna pierced his heart with jealousy, and
with a heavy and suspicious heart he spoke, forgetting her devotion and self-
sacrifice, "I have behaved cruelly to you but my love for you is as strong as
ever and so is my jealousy. How am I to know that you have been true to me ?
You are still beautiful, and what is this talk of Rituparna Maharajah marrying
you? I shall disappear and, never come into your life again. Be happy, and
marry whomsoever you like."

Damayanti did not answer him but, raising her eyes to heaven, she clasped
her slender hands and sobbed aloud, "God, Oh God ! help me. Let me prove
to my husband how true is my love for him, and that I am a virtuous wife.
Angels of mercy hear my cry. Let me die rather than he should doubt my
love."

Her anguished prayer had barely ended, when a strain of sweetest harmony
filled the air, and angels' voices said, "Nal, take back your wife. She is pure
and true. With her is good fortune and happiness." And the gods descended
to bless the royal pair, saying to Damayanti, "You are our dear child and we are
pleased with you. No more troubles shall assail you." And, to Nal, "Her
sufferings have been great but her love and patience have triumphed. It was
her strong love which released you from Sani's spell and drew you here to her. "

Nal's doubts fled. He fell in worshipping love at his wife's feet. Sweet
melody filled the stable and beautiful flowers rained upon them. The court
ladies escorted Nal with songs of gladness to the palace, and his son and daughter
danced with joy on either side of him. Damayanti 's father and mother wel-

196 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

DAMAYANTI

comed him, as they had done when he came as a bridegroom with their daughter's
garland round his neck. It was their wedding day over again and all Bidarva
feasted and rejoiced with Nal and Princess Damayanti.

The old Maharajah Rituparna heard the wonderful story of his driver,
Bahook, with amazement, and he felt humbled and ashamed that he, an old man,
had been foolish enough to think that a j^oung and lovely woman like Damayanti
would choose him at a Swayambara. But Nal hastened to thank him for his
kindness and shelter, assuring him that only through him he, Nal, had been
re-united to his wife. So Rituparna returned to Ajodhya pleased and happy,
but with a new driver.

Bhimsen insisted that Nal should be to him as a son, and Damayanti and
he lived happily together in her childhood's home. The news spread through
the land and reached Nishad and many of the subjects longed to see their old
Maharajah again.

After a time, Nal sent a messenger to his brother Pushkar, asking his
permission (as Maharajah) to live in Nishad. Pushkar replied that he would
allow Nal to return if he would promise to play the dice game again, and if he
lost he must leave Nishad for ever. Nal agreed, and in the game won back his
kingdom.

Then he threw away the dice and embraced his brother. Pushkar lived
peacefully at Nishad, for Nal was too generous not to forgive wholly. The
people of Nishad rejoiced to have their Maharajah Nal and Maharani amongst
them once more, and Damayanti and Nal, secure in the love of children and
subjects, lived happily ever after.

There is a little cave near Mount Abu, in Rajputana, called Nal-Guha,
where tradition saj^s Nal and Damayanti lived when in the forest.

Nal's castle of Nishad or Nirwara was taken by Scindhia about 967 A.D.
and Nal's present representative, of direct descent, is a small chief whose estate
is near Shahabad in the Central Provinces.

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UTTARA

UTTARA

Maharajah Santanu of Lunar Race (Chandravansa), left three sons, when
he died. Bhishma was by his first wife, the goddess Ganges. When the
goddess left him, Santanu married another wife, who had two sons, named
Vichitravirja and Chitrangad. Prince Chitrangad died when young. The
heir, Bhishma, vowed, when his father married the second time, that he would
be a bachelor all his life. This was because the second Maharani's father was
unwilling to marry his daughter to Maharajah Santanu, saying, "As you have
an heir already, my daughter's sons would have no claim to the throne."

On hearing this. Prince Bhishma vowed, by all he held sacred, that he
would be a Brahma-chari (holy man). As he, therefore, could not marry,
Prince Bhishma was most anxious that his younger brother, Vichitravirja,
should find a suitable wife.

At this time, there reigned in Benares a Maharajah who had two lovely
daughters, by his Maharani, and a third daughter, who was also very pretty,
by a slave-girl. Prince Bhishma, on hearing of these young Princesses, went
to Benares and brought the three girls to his kingdom, Hastinapur. There
was a great durbar held, to which many guests were invited, including the Sage,
Vyasa-deb, and the girls were married to Prince Vichitravirja with great
festivities.

The names of the girls were Amba, Ambica and Ambalica. They lived
happily for a very short time, and then Prince Vichitravirja died, leaving no
heir to the throne. Prince Bhishma was asked by his step-mother to marry,
and he said, "No, never, because I promised by all I hold sacred that I would
never marry."

"Oh," she said, "dear son, you promised that because of me, as my father
thought that my sons would not succeed to the throne, but now there is no heir,

198 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

UTTARA

and, unless you marry and have a son, your father's name and the Lunar Race
will be extinct."

"Never shall I do it," said Bhishma, "the sun and the moon may disappear,
the earth may become a heap of ashes, but Bhishma 's promise will remain, and
nothing can alter it."

After much lamentation, the step-mother went to the Sage, Vyasa, for
advice, and he promised to do his best in the matter. None could tell which
of Vichitravirja's three widows was the daughter of the slave-girl, and Vyasa
Mooni, having considered the subject, and thinking that nobility of blood would
show itself, asked the three Queens to walk before him, unveiled, one by one.

When he asked the first queen, Ambica, she came modestly, with closed eyes,
and she gave birth to a son who was blind. Ambalica, the second concealed her
face with a coating of pandu (yellow ochre), and henceforth was known as
Pandea, and her son, who was born unnaturally pale, was called Pandu. The
youngest widow proved her ignoble birth by stepping forth unashamed. Her
son was named Bidoor.

Prince Dhritarashtra was excluded from reigning because of his blindness,
and Pandu, the younger son, was given the throne of Hastinapur. King Pandu
married Princess Koonti, the aunt of the god Krishna, to whom she was devoted,
and she gave her lord three sons, Judhisthir, Bhim and Arjun. His younger
Maharani had two sons, Nakul and Sahadev. These five Princes were the
pupils of Drona, the Master- Archer, and they became famous for their knightly
deeds.

On the death of Pandu, Judhisthir became King, but his cousin, Durjodhan,
the first-born of the hundred sons of the blind Prince Dhritarashtra claimed the
throne, because his father was the elder son of Vichitravirja. Durjodhan 's
plots against Judhisthir caused him and his brothers, who were called Pandavas
(sons of Pandu), to seek shelter for a time in the countries beyond the Indus.
While living there, Judhisthir married Draupadi, daughter of the King of
Panchalica.

Now, Dhritarashtra, the blind, loved his nephews, and, to end the feud

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 199

UTTARA

between them and his sons, he divided the ancient kingdom of Hastinapur.
Durjodhan reigned in the old capital, and he and his brothers were known as
the Kurus.

Judhisthir founded a new capital at a place called Indraprastha, which had
long been famous because, once in the by-gone ages, Indra, the King of the
devas (gods) had done puja there to Vishnu, and a belief had spread that the
souls of those who died on that holy spot would go straight to heaven, and hence
Indraprastha had become a place of pilgrimage.

The new capital which Judhisthir built there surpassed Hastinapur in
splendour and beauty, and the Pandava inaugurated his reign with the
magnificent ceremony of Rajsuya. Thousands of guests were invited, and to
each of the Princes of India was assigned a special duty, for, in these roj'al rites,
every office was performed by a scion of royal blood. King Durjodhan was
given charge of the treasury and Prince Bhim, of the food, and so on. Krishna,
King of Dwaraka, asked Judhisthir to appoint him to wash the feet of the guests.
When all were assembled, and the ceremony began with the washing of the
hands and feet of the guests, they all cried, in horror, "What ! is God Krishna
to wash our feet ? Why has such a senale duty been given to him ? ' ' and
Sri-Krishna, the divine King, answered gently, "Yes, I, though God, am the
servant of all, and am here to serve you. "

The office of distributing the sacred food was the supreme one and had
belonged to the Maharajah of Hastinapur for over twenty generations, but now
Judhisthir, King of Indraprastha, performed it, and terrible were the rage and
jealousy in Durjodhan 's heart, when his cousin and rival thus proclaimed his
supremacy. Bound by his promise to his father, the enraged Prince could show
no open resentment, but his soul burned within him, and he and his brothers
plotted for the fall of Judhisthir.

The Pandu King was celebrated for his virtues, and, for a time, Durjodhan
chafed in vain for vengeance. Then he bethought him of the game of pasha
(dice) their national pastime, and he invited Judhisthir to play it with him.
Judhisthir was a man of high character, truthful and god-fearing, and he was

200 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

UTTARA

too kind-hearted to refuse Durjodhan's request. Durjodhaii lured his cousin
on, to higher and higher play, and Judhisthir, who was not good at the game,
staked all he possessed, including his kingdom and the liberty of himself, his
brothers and his wife.

The conditions of the game were that he who lost should go into exile lor
twelve years and li\-e in disguise for another year, and, if any one penetrated the
disguise, the exile should be extended another twelve years. The Panda\'as,
all loyal to their brother and King, Judhisthir, prepared to accompany him in his
banishment. Arjun had married Subhadra, the only sister of the god Krishna,
whose kingdom, Dwaraka, lay in the far lands near the sea. Here Prince Arjun
sent his wife and little son, Abhiman3'u.

The brothers, with Draupadi, sought the farewell blessing of their mother,
ere they departed to the forest. As each brave son touched her feet, the
Maharani Koonti said : "I bless 3rou with mv whole heart, that vou may often
have troubles." But, when Princess Draupadi knelt before her, she said :

"Child, you will not forget that all my precious ones, my five dear sons
are in your care. Tender them lovingly, my daughter."

Prince Arjun asked, wonderingly : "Mother, how can you wish us often
to have troubles in the jungles ? Do you not under.stand what this banishment
means ? We are leaving everything that is comfortable and pleasant. We go
into exile with the knowledge that we have lost all, and yet, over and above this,
you, our mother, wish us to have further troubles."

"My dear sons," answered their good mother, "I know you ha\e lost all
worldly goods, but God remains, and, if you have frequent troubles, vou will
not forget him, and they who possess God need nothing more."

Koonti 's sons heard her in rev-erent silence. Then, with Draupadi, they
set out for the great forest. Hardships and trials beset them, at ever\- step,
but the god Krishna watched oxer them, and they ever remembered the Di\ ine
Presence, and kept their souls in peace.

When the twelve years of exile were ended, the Princess assumed fictitious
names and journeyed to the kingdom of Birat, where they obtained ser\-ice in

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 201

UTTARA

different capacities. The Princess Draupadi became a lady-in-waiting and
Judliisthir was employed in the court. Bhim served as a cook, Arjun disguised
himself as a woman and taught the Maharajah's only daughter, Uttara, dancing
and singing, and the two youngest brothers, Nakul and Sahadev, found
situations in the royal stables.

Now, the household of Birat Rajah was all joy and happiness, and the little
Princess Uttara was the pride of the kingdom. Often, her sweet ways, as he
taught her, made Arjun think with longing of his young son, in distant Dwaraka,
and he grew to love his little pupil as a daughter, and she returned her teacher's
affection, for her disposition was gentle and loving.

Just as the year of disguise came to its end, the Maharajah of Birat
discovered who his unknown servants were, and, calling the Princes before him,
he asked their pardon for employing them as menials. The brothers, however,
thanked him, saying :

"We shall never forget all the kindness we have received in your household.
God will bless you for your goodness to His servants, the Pandavas."

But King Birat was weighed down with grief that the great Pandu and his
noble brothers should have passed a whole year unrecognised and unknown in
his palace. Arjun told Judhisthir that all he had seen, during the year, of
Princess Uttara, made him sure that she was a most suitable wife for his son,
the lad Abhimanyu. Judhisthir agreed, and they expressed their wishes to the
Birat Maharajah, who said that nothing would give him greater honour and
happiness than the union of his daughter with a Prince of the famed house of
Pandu. So the wedding-day was fixed, and Arjun sent messengers to Dwaraka,
to bring his wife, Subhadra, and his son, and all Birat was joyful.

When the bridegroom's party arrived, they were welcomed with music and
flowers, and the marriage was celebrated with much feasting. Then the
Pandavas left Birat, taking the little bride, Uttara, with them. The parting
from her parents and her little brother, Uttar, was a sad one.

The Maharajah and Maharani dearly loved their child, and they gave her
many handsome presents, including a number of dolls, for the Princess Uttara

202 NINE WEAL INDIAN WOMEN

UTTARA

was very 3'oung, and knew only the play-side of life. Subhadra soon learned
to love her little daughter-in-law, for Uttara's was a beautiful disposition.
Arjun and Subhadra shielded her tender!}- from every care, and left her free to
play. Prince Abhimanyu adored his lovely wife, and often played with her
and her dolls. Arjun watched the pretty picture with jo}-, and, if Uttara wanted
a new doll or toy, she had only to ask him and it was hers, immediately.

Now the years of exile were over, and the Pandavas asked Durjodhan to
give them a piece of land. Durjodhan answered that if the Pandavas wanted
even the smallest piece of Indraprastha, they must fight for it. The Pandavas
accordingly took up arms, and declared war upon the Kauravas. Many chiefs and
princes of the Royal Races joined, some on one side and some on the other, and
thus began the Kurukshettra, or Great War of India.

Sad and terrible were the carnage and slaughter. The skies were rent
with the clash and clamour of battle. The earth was soaked with the blood of
heroes. Friendship was broken, and the ties of blood forgotten ! Brother
fought against brother, and the son knew not his father, nor the disciple his
master ! The fair country of India was stricken, and all was chaos and
desolation, and the memory of the horror of the War lives in the land to this day.

Pandava and Kuru mothers mourned their sons, and the lamentations of
widows pierced heaven itself, and made the angels weep. In the Royal Temple
of Mahadev, at Hastinapur, the widowed mother of the Pandu and the aged
mother of the Kuru besought God to end the awful destruction and give peace to
the countr}'. But neither knew that the other came to the temple to worship.

Koonti Devi had been a devotee of Krishna all her life, and she had taught
her five sons to worship him. Krishna and his brother, Baladev, fought on the
side of the Pandavas, and she in:plored Mahadev (their family god) to give them
the \ictory.

But the Queen Gandhari had also gained great favour in heaven, for, when
she came from her mountain-home in Kandahar as a bride to the blind King
Dhritarashtra, she found him lonely in his affliction, and she loved him so
much, that she cried to the gods : "Let me share his blindness. " vShe bandaged

NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN 203

UTTARA

her own eyes tightly, aud her husband was never more alone, or lonely, in his
darkness.

So, when Gandhari, the self -immolated, raised her sightless e^'es to heaven,
and implored Mahadev to give victory to her sons. He was sore pressed, for
the heart of God is all mercy and He longs to help his suppliants. While He
delayed to answer their prayers, the Queen-Mothers met, one day, within the
temple and Gandhari, in a frenzy of grief, told Koonti Devi that she had no
right to worship there.

The mother of the Panda vas answered : "I have worshipped Siva, in this
temple, ever since I entered the royal house of Hastinapur. My son is the
rightful Sovereign, and this temple is ours."

"Yours ! " cried Gandhari. "My husband was the elder of Viohitravirja's
sons, and my Durjodhan is, b\- right, the King. Moreover you, a widow, have
no right to worship here. "

Then Maliade\- appeared in a lambent flame upon his altar, and thus spoke
to the angry Queens : "My children ! I belong to each and all. God is theirs
who seek Him with a pure heart. I am with the Kurus, and I am with the
Pandavas. All have equal right to me. I have heard j^our supplications, and
I am grieved. But, though everything is decreed in Heaven, free-will is left
on earth. It rests with each to win my favour. Who brings a hundred champa
flowers to me at dawn, her son shall conquer." Then the Divine Presence
vanished, and the Queen-Mothers left the temple.

The champa was a Celestial flower that was Mahadev's favourite. Gandhari
rejoiced, because she thought she would have tiie best and most valuable champas
to lay at Mahadev's feet. She told Durjodhan about it, and he said :

"Mother, I shall have a hundred champas made of gold, and your offering
will be more acceptable than Koonti 's because hers will be onl}' from the
jungles."

During the night, the cunning goldsmiths of Hastinapur made a hundred
flowers of beaten gold, so like the heavenly blossoms that, but for the lack of
scent, the}' seemed to be champas from Indra's garden.

204 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

UTTARA

Kooiiti Devi had sought her son, Arjun, the best and bravest of the brave
Pandavas, and told him that she wanted a hundred chanipa flowers, to offer
to Siva. Arjun journeyed up to heaven, did homage at the feet of Indra and
craved as a boon, a hundred champa flowers.

The great Indra blessed his son and said, "Is that all you ask?
Only a hundred champa blossoms ! You may take a hundred trees."

Arjun returned home, happily, to his mother, bearing upon his broad back
a hundred champa trees, all laden with blossoms. The first faint streak of dawn
was showing in the eastern sky, and Koonti Devi could lose no time. She raised
her achat (end of her sari) and Arjun filled it w ith the fragrant blossoms and she
hastened to the temple. The symbol upon the altar opened, and she beheld
Mahadev there. He was pleased with the perfume and knew that the flowers
came from the garden of Indra. He accepted the offering, and he said : "Your
son shall be the victor," and Koonti Devi went home rejoicing.

Just after Koonti Devi had left the temple the Queen Gandhari came,
attended bj- her maidens and carrying a golden saher, on which rested the
hundred golden champas, but, when she caught the fragrance of the yellow
blossoms round the altar and saw their velvet petals, and that the image of
Mahadev had vanished, she knew that she, despite her gold, had failed, and she
sadly turned away and cast her costly offering to the ground.

Uttara and Abhimanyu saw no cloud in their sky. Their nights were never
dark, their flowers always in bloom and often looking at his wife's happy face,
Abhimanyu said : "With you as my life-long companion, I feel that I live,
not on earth, but in heaven, in eternal happiness."

Uttara ne\er looked serious or sad, and all her surroundings were happy
also. When Uttara smiled, all smiled, and she was like a ray of sunshine.
All loved her, and she and Abhimanyu were devoted to each other. If Abhi-
manyu ever said, "I shall be a little late, coming home, Uttara. Will you go
on playing till I come," Uttara 's big black eves would gaze at him, wistfully,
as she replied : "How can I plaj-, without you? When you are by me, I am
happy in my plav-room."

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UTTARA

The great War went on, while Uttara played with her t03's and was happy.
But Abhimanyu chafed for an opportunity to join the fray. Many brave
Pandavas had fallen, and, when Abhimanyu heard that Judhisthir sought
a leader for one of his armies, he hurried to his uncle's tent, and, after doing
homage at his feet, said :

"Revered Majesty, pra}- send me to the battle-field, to-day. I know I
am young and untried in battle, but am I not the great Arjun's son ? I shall put
my soul into the fight and. Uncle, you will be proud of ni}^ sword this day."

Judhisthir's heart was heavj'. Hundreds of his gallant knights were slain,
Arjun was leading a division in a distant part and the King had no General
to lead his second army, while the Kurus has se^'en experienced Generals. He
gazed into the fine face of his nephew. He thought of the girl-wife, Uttara,
and the hopes of his brother Arjun's house, and he felt that he could not accept
the sacrifice of another bra^'e life in his cause. So he smiled tenderly on
Abhiman3'u and said : "Child, you are so young, and the Kurus so cruel."

But the lad still knelt at his feet, and answered :

"Uncle-King, I beg you, let me go. I shall return a conqueror, and, if not,
is not Chandra's heaven open to those who die fighting for sovereign and country ?
Bless me, and send me forth."

Judhisthir could not resist the ardour of the lad's pleading, and his need
of a leader was great, so he yielded. But the tears dimmed his eyes, as he
said : "Beloved nephew, you are the only knight to whom I can trust my
soldiers to-da3'. The Pandavas will be proud to follow such an earnest young
General." Then, summoning his council, he appointed Abhimanyu to lead
the Pandavas, and the ranks of soldiers gladly welcomed Arjun's bra\-e son.

When Abhimanyu told his mother that he was to act as a General on the
battle-field that day, she looked sad, and pleaded :

"How can I let 3'ou go to the cruel Knrukshctra, where so manj- have been
killed? O my son! will you not go and ask 3'our uncle, the Maharajah, to
defer sending you till your father comes back ? ' '

But Abhimanyu answered her : "Mother, is it not a proud da\' for you, that

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UTTARA

your son has been chosen to lead the Pandava soldiers, and chosen by the great
Judhisthir himself ? Dear mother, can anything hurt me ? Am I not the
famed warrior Arjun's son, nephew of God Krishna? My saintly mother,
your prayers will always protect me." And Abhimanyu bent down and
touched her feet, in filial farewelj.

Subhadra drew him into her arms and kissed him on his forehead, saying,
with gentle resignation : "God be with you, my precious son."

Now a harder task lay before the young Prince, to bid farewell to his wife.
As he thought of her, in her delicate state, his heart tightened within him, but
he remembered the honour of his kinsmen and all the gallant dead, who had
shown him the way to glory. He smiled a brave smile, and raised the curtain
of Uttara's room, thinking to find her, as e\'er, in happy play. But the Princess
lay upon a couch, with closed eyes, and hands tightly clasped upon her breast,
and tears trickled from underneath her silken eye-lashes. Abhimanyu knelt
beside her and tenderly kissed the dainty fingers and asked : "M3' sweet one,
why do you weep ? ' '

"I don't know," she answered him, piaintiveh', "but m}- right eye is
twitching, and they say that is a sign of misfortune. "

"My pretty Uttara ! " he murmured softly, as he drew her close to his heart,
"don't pay any heed to these sayings. I have some news for you. Uncle has
appointed me a general, and I am to lead the Pandavas to battle to-day."

His words pierced Uttara's heart, like a dagger, and she fainted upon his
breast, and, as he held her there, so pale and lifeless, a strange foreboding
gripped his heart. But he put it from him, and brought her back to life with
warm caresses, and then she la\' like a wounded dove, nestling against him and
moaning piteously : "Don't go, don't leave me."

Fighting against his feelings, he answered her, gently :

"Beloved Uttara, Queen of my heart! I must go. I nmst do my duty
for my King. You will love me more, dear one, if I am brave and true, and
will you not be proud of me," he asked, cheerfully, bending down, to gaze into
her starry eyes, "when I return a conqueror ?"

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UTTARA

But Uttara shivered, in agony, and moaned : "This dreadful, cruel war ! "
and then she raised herself and, circling her slender arms about his neck, she
looked gravely into his face and said :

"Husband, beloved, I had a dream, last night, and it has made me so
miserable. I saw 3'ou on the battle-field. The cruel Kurus surrounded 3'ou
and you fought like a hero, but your sword was cleft in twain, and then you
prayed the warrior's last prayer to Krishna, and oh, my Prince ! 1 saw you fall
to the ground, calling for me."

The words struck a chill on Abhimanyu's heart, and for a space he could
find no wav to soothe her. He had a loving and gentle nature, and could not
bear to see anyone suffer, least of all his petted and delicate wife. Seeing him
silent and sorrowful, Uttara, holding his hands tightly w-ithin her own, pleaded,
urgently : "Don't go, don't go !"

"My own, my dearest," he answered, "let us not think of the parting, but
only of the time when we shall meet again, and how happy we shall then be ! "

"Oh, my Prince, joy of my life, I cannot let you go. We have just begun
our play. I like play, but not this dreadful war-game. It is cruel, and you
and I are so young. Leave the war-game to the others, and stay with me. "

Abhimanyu's heart was rent in twain. He had a soldier's spirit, and duty
and 103'^alty called him and he longed to go. But he lo\ed his wife, and her
grief weighed heavily upon his soul, and, for a while, he again held her to him,
and she clung to him and wept.

Then he kissed her and said : "Uttara, be my own bright little l^ttara.
You know I-cannot bear to see you weep. Be bra\e, my wife, and come and
help me dress for battle . ' '

Uttara was an obedient wife, and never hurt her husband in any way, and,
as she wished to please him, she yielded to his pleading. But convulsive sobs
still shook her fragile body, and she said : " I am so weak and fearful . You will
be ashamed of me. King of my heart."

"Never ashamed of you, my loved one," he cried, and again he caught
her in his arms, and .strained her to his heart, "your cheerful presence, your

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UTTARA

bright and child-like ways, have made my life all happiness. But now^ another
day has dawned, and sterner duties lie before us. Come, my precious love,
soul of myself ! gird me for the battle. Do you hear the soldiers' shouts?
They are ready. Hasten my going."

The Princess became brave for his sake, and helped him to don his armour.
With her tiny fingers, she buckled on his sword and placed his shield in his
hands. And her heart swelled with pride, as she looked at him. He was so
fine and so handsome, the pride of all his race. Then she called her maidens,
to wish him luck, and bravely led them in the baran and placed the jaimala
round his neck, and touched his feet, in farewell, crying bravely :

"My husband, my Prince, don't be away long. I still love my play, but
I shall be lonely."

Now he was the weak one, and he strained her to his heart and bent his
handsome head, to whisper : "Uttara, my sweet Uttara, don't let my mother
weep for me," and, in a louder voice, he said : "Oh, my little wife, you are
still a child, go on with your play." And then, again : "I am going to do
my duty, Uttara, pray to God for me."

But Uttara could no longer answer and, raising her tear-stained face, he
kissed her solemnly, on the forehead, and, holding her hands in his, he prayed.
Then he tore himself away, but returned, once more to embrace her, and once
more she clung to him in grief and cried out :

"Abhi, Abhi, don't be long! My heart breaks at this parting. I have
no strength to bear it. My life is young, my toys are new. I shall wait with
patience for your return, Abhi, but don't be long."

Abhimanyu kissed her face, but did not speak, and then he tore himself
away again and left her. A few paces off, he turned and cried : "My Uttara,
my beautiful Uttara." Then he mounted his war-chariot and the soldiers
shouted, "Jai ! Ja,i ! A bhimanyu-ki Jai ! " and the trampling of the war-elephants
shook the earth as they marched away. Uttara watched till she could see him
no more, and then crept, like a stricken deer, to her room.

This was her first realisation of trouble. All her life, she had been

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UTTARA

sheltered like a choice flower, and, though the storms of earthly sorrows had
passed her, they had never touched her. She felt that the, sun had ceased to
shine for her, and that henceforth her life would be all darkness. Abhimanyu
had told her to continue her play, but he, her best and dearest playmate was
gone, and a terrible foreboding told her that he would never return.

Uttara stood and gazed sadly at her dolls, and thought of the games she
and her lover-husband had often played together. Then she remembered his
mother, and said : "I shall go to her. He told me not to let her weep." She
walked towards the door, but her grief was heavy and she fell lifeless upon the
floor. There, her old nurse and foster-mother, Sulochona (the beautiful-eyed)
found her and called Subhadra, and for long their efforts to restore her seemed
all in vain. At last, the pale eyelids opened, but the great, dark eyes were
now lakes of woe, and the pretty lips were drawn and drooping, and the plaintive
cry : "My love, my Prince, don't leave me," wrung their hearts.

Sulochona wept silent tears to see her dear Uttara so bereft, and she and
Subhadra agreed that something must be done to break the stupor of Uttara 's
grief. Sulochona took the Princess in her arms, and said :

"My child, remember that you will be the mother of Abhimanyu's son.
What will your lord say, if he finds the little one missing, when he returns?"

The wise words awakened Uttara, and she slowly came back to her senses,
and sat at the window to wait for news of the battle.

Abhimanyu led his little array bravely forth, and entered the buha (circle
of fighting) with the heart of a lion. For a time, he seemed to bear a charmed
life, and all fell before him. The dead lay in heaps around him, and his men
shouted triumphantly, as they pursued the defeated remnants of the Kuru
hosts. Then, the tide of battle turned, and Durjodhan's seven generals strove
to win the honour of the day.

Terrible was the slaughter, and at length Abhimanyu alone faced the foe.
The seven generals pressed round him, and he fought them single-handed.
Blood streamed from his face, and his armour was torn and pierced in many
places. His sword broke in two, as he cleft a foe in halves, and the seven Kurus,

210 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

Uttara- -7*fee great dark eyes were now lakes of woe, and the preity lips were drawn
and drooping and the plaintive cry "My Lore , my Prince, don't leave me."

UTTARA

taking advantage of it, each shot an arrow at him. Mortally wounded, and
attacked by seven, the gallant Prince knew that his last hour had come. Raising
his broken sword, he touched his forehead with it, and said his last prayer.
Then his fine figure swayed, and he fell to Mother-Earth, with his life-blood
fast gushing forth. With his flickering breath, he did homage to his parents,
and then, crying, "Uttara, Uttara !" his soul took its flight to Heaven.

Judhisthir, the King, received the cruel tidings with dismay and grief.
He knew not how to tell Arjun of Abhimanyu's death. He felt that he had sent
the bright and promising youth, the hope of the Pandavas, to his end.

When Arjun returned and heard of his son's death he was over-whelmed
with grief and cried out to Krishna, with clasped hands, "Oh Krishna, oh Lord,
why hast thou punished me thus ? My only joy and only hope is taken away
from me. What great fault could I have committed that I should lose
Abhimanyu, my beloved child ? He was but young and had just begun his
life — and so cruelly was he killed ! One boy against seven Generals ! — where
is thy justice, oh, Krishna ? How can I go on with the fight now ? I feel I have
no strength to go on with it. There are many brave soldiers who would fight
for Pandavas, but Arjun can do nothing more."

On hearing this, Krishna knew that Arjun was going to give way to his
feelings and, if Arjun did not fight, there would be no victory to the Pandavas.
Krishna w^as silent and after a moment Arjun saw a great and alarming vision.
In it he saw that the great Creator has the whole Creation in him. He is Life
and Death. They were together, Arjun and his son were united in him, and
God is the Life. Arjun was frightened, seeing this, and he knew that the
Vision was sent to teach him to go on with his duty in the War and not give
way to his sorrow.

After getting the news of Abhimanyu's death, Subhadra had entered the
room and found poor Uttara on the floor. She sat down gently and placed her
dear little daughter-in-law's head on her lap. Uttara opened her eyes and saw
her mother and she hid her face in her lap and cried, saying : "Mother,
Abhimanvu has gone and will never return," then she fainted, and Subhadra

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UTTARA

Debi thought that Uttara was dead. She began to weep and pray to God, "Kind
God, have mercy on me, spare little Uttara, that I may have someone to call me
'mother'."

Uttara again opened her eyes and, looking at Subhadra, called out,
"Mother, will you not allow me to go with Abhimanyu, to join him in
heaven?"

Subhadra Debi took her little daughter's hands in hers. Her tears rolled
down as she said gently, "My child, my lovely daughter, Uttara, be brave.
My love for you is greater and stronger than ever, as I see Abhimanyu in you
now. Will you not be kind to your poor mother and try and live for her sake a
few more years ? When our work is done here v;e shall all go and meet in that
Chandraloke/'

Arjun came to see Uttara, whom he loved like his own daughter, and he
sat by her, as she still lay with her head on Subhadra 's lap. When he lovingly
called her she sat up and said, "Father, father, I have no one to play with now.
My playroom is broken up, my toys are smashed, and, oh father, why has
Abhimanyu gone, and left me alone?"

Her cry pierced his heart. With great effort he spoke : "My child, you are
still young. Why should you not play ? Ask me for new toys and I shall get
them for you."

"Oh, father, kind father, there is no more play for me," said Uttara. "In
this world my play is ended but when I meet my Abhimanyu again, father, will
you give me new toys there ? You will try and send me to him soon, will you
not, father?"

Arjun could not console her, and, shaking with heavy sobs, he walked out
of her room.

After a few days Krishna came, as he heard that Uttara was still discon-
solate. When he came and stood in the courtyard Uttara was told of his
presence. She ran out to him and fell on his feet, saying : "Oh, Krishna, oh,
God, Abhimanyu has gone. I want to go, too. No sooner had I begun my play
than it was ended. Merciful you are, why did you not let me play on longer?

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UTTARA

They call you merciful. Have mercy on me. Send me to my Abhimanyu.
You were his uncle, Arjun was his father, and yet my Abhimanyu has gone !"

She cried piteously. Krishna lifted her and said, with affection "Uttara,
dear child, do not be so utterly distressed. Have faith, have strength. We are
all under the great Law. We are here for but a few years. Life and Death,
sorrow and happiness, go round as the Wheel of the Law. We shall all meet
in heaven and you shall go to Chandraloke and join Abhimanyu and be happy
with him. Before Abhimanyu came to this world he said, in heaven, that he
did not wish to remain on earth longer than a few years."

Uttara cried : "I was so happy with him ! Oh, Sri-Krishna, you have
taken him, take me, too. Let me follow him ! I have no child to comfort me. ' '

Krishna, all love and tenderness, said : "Uttara, I shall be your little
son, and I shall call you 'mother' Will that comfort you?"

His words consoled her, and, when Sulochona, the old nurse came in, she
found that the Princess Uttara had taken up the broken thread of her life, but
never again did she see Uttara playing as before. Instead, she spend long hours
in prayer.

One day, catching a reflection of herself in a mirror, Uttara did not know,
at first, who it was, for she had never seen herself there since the day Abhimanyu
had left her. Now she started back, crying : "Is it a witch ?" and recoiled in
horror from her own grey hair and sunken eyes and grief-wrecked face.
Covering her face in Sulochona's sari, she cried : "Mother, do all widows look
so terrible?"

Sulochona lifted up her voice and wept, for she loved the Princess as if she
were her own child. Then she comforted her, and reminded her of the little
one yet to be born. Uttara listened to her words, and gathered strength and
courage to bear her loss, and, for her gentle resignation, all who had ever loved
her loved still more, and ever loved her more and more, because she carried
within her the hope of all Pandu.

When five weary months were passed, her son was boni, and Arjun named
him Parikshit. After he was born, Uttara besought them all to let her join the

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UTTARA

many widows who immolated themselves upon the funeral pyres. But Krishna
came to her, and said :

"No, no, Uttara, your son needs your care. A mother with a tender child
must deny herself the comfort of the flaming fire which re-unites her to her
lord."

Uttara heard his words, and again resigned herself, with gentle patience,
and all who saw her saintly life marvalled. Nor did Krishna forget to console
his sister, Subhadra, who hid her grief within her heart, and nursed the sick
and wounded with so bright a face that all wondered, and, at last, one asked :

"For all, mother, that you look so happy, do j^ou not mourn your son ?"

And she answered : "BefxDre, I had only one, Abhimanyu, but now I have
many, for I see my boy in every wounded soldier."

At last, the cruel Kunikshctra ended, and Judhisthir placed Uttara's son
upon the Imperial throne of Indraprastha, for all his own sons, and Prince
Bhim's, had gone, and he himself was anxious to journey to the distant snows of
Himalaya, where he spent his closing years in solitude and prayer, and
Parikshit and his descendants held the throne of Indraprastha (Delhi) for many
years.

Many years, too, had to pass, ere Uttara ascended the longed-for funeral
pyre and freed her soul to journey forth to find her lord. Uttara had proved
to be the best of mothers. She lived on earth to do her duty to her son. She
unselfishly served the throne of Indraprastha, but her suffering and longing for
her husband, all the years she lived, were great. She obeyed God Krishna, and
though ready to embrace death, she lived, instead, a life of death.

To this day, Hindu women, when Uttara's life is spoken of, picture her
with her Abhimanyu, as a loving child-wife, playing with her toys.

214 NINE IDEAL INDIAN WOMEN

GLOSSAIiY

Ghomta — Head dress.

Garooah — Almond coloiir.

Moonipatni — Hermit's wife.

Topoban and Asrani — Sacred countries and villages where Hennits and their families lived.

Pradip— Light.

Dakshina — The gift to make a gift complete.

Chandal — An inferior caste who generally burns dead bodies.

Chandraloke — Kingdom of moon.

Kurukshctra — Battlefield of Kurus.

Sudarshan — A round wheel shaped instrument of Vishnu.

Surjavansa — Sun dynasty.

Baran — Welcome ceremony.

Andar — Inner part of a palace.

Raths — Chariots.

Patichabati-ban — Wood of five banyan trees.

Arati — Evening prayer with lights.

Shaji — A sort of basket made in metal for prayers.

Pooja — Worship.

Mooni, Rishi, Yogi — Holymen, hermits.

Sindoor — A sort of red powder used only by married women for their head and forehead also

by married and unmarried girls.
Sati — Virtuous woman.

Shmashati — A field where dead human bodies are burnt.
Alta — Red paint for feet, onlyinarried and unmarried women can use.
Sivayambara — Durbar of men of all ranks where a girl choses a bridegroom.
Anchal — End of a sari.

Rajkumari — Princess (Maharaja's daughter).
Durbar — Conclave.
Sari — Woman's dress.
Protima — Image.
Yagn a — Sacred f esti v al .
Esraj — Instrument something like guitar.
Kartal — Small brass musical instrument.
Brata — Vow.

Mashima — Mother's sister.
Jai fai — Glory.
Katnandalu — Vessel of alms.
Antapur — Inner part of the palace.
Dan da — Stick.
Parijat — Flower grows in Paradise (Heaven).